


Spark Me Up

by CharWright5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Almost everyone is a werewolf, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Comeplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Derek and Scott are Brothers, Discrimination, Frottage, Full Shift Werewolves, Grief, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Omega Stiles, Phone Sex, Rimming, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Build, Werewolf Discrimination, asshole behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 153,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the sudden loss of their dad, brothers Derek and Scott McHale are forced to move to California, where Derek shuts down completely. That is, until his brother's annoying best friend keeps showing up everywhere with his <i>scent</i>, forcing the elder werewolf to open up and deal with everything he's hidden.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>*~*ABANDONED. READ AT OWN RISK*~*</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Accident.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU (clearly) with Scott and Derek as actual bros, both of them in high school, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, full wolf shifting, and whatever other random trope thing I love that I could throw in. Pretty sure Scott's dad in the show is named Rafael, but since I hate Agent McCall with the unrelenting passion of an Oni after a dark spirit, I've given him and Derek a dad with a different name because artistic license. Also I can't really speak Spanish so forgive any inaccuracies in any terms within this fic in respect to the random words/phrases their abuela uses. Most of my knowledge of that language comes from watching “Dora the Explorer” while babysitting and Google Translate. All other characters within are property of “Teen Wolf” (which is a gift), Jeff Davis (who is a painful yet wonderful gift), and noMTV (which is kind of a crappy gift, lesbireal). I just stole them and made them do other stuffs. Title from “Touch” by Daughter.

The rhythmic dribbling of the basketball filled the living room, like a third heartbeat in the still house.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound was soothing, calming even, and Derek didn't bother hiding the small smile that it brought to his face. A smile that was also partially created due to his younger brother's obvious annoyance at the elder bouncing the ball inside their Queens house, right next to him on the couch.

Derek continued bouncing the ball as he heard Scott huff, hands slamming down on the keyboard of his laptop as it sat on his legs. The elder McHale didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge him in any way, just simply smirked and kept dribbling.

“Seriously?!” Scott finally snapped, head turning towards his older brother, dark eyes narrowed in a glare, thin lips pressed in a hard line.

The elder kept his smirk up, his own head twisting to look at the younger, still dribbling the basketball. “What?” he feigned ignorance, his tone light as he joked around. “Am I distracting you from your World of Geek-craft game?”

Scott's glare intensified, eyes flashing gold for a brief moment, a muscle in his uneven jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth. “ _War_ craft,” he corrected, the word growled more than spoken.

The ball bounced back up, Derek catching it and placing it in his lap, holding his hands up in innocence. Sure, he picked on his brother, was kind of his job being the elder one, and Scott just made it so damn easy with his dorky passions and his complete lack of social skills. But Derek knew when to back off, when to let shit go before it went too far and they wolfed out on each other. It hadn't happened since they were kids, and with the elder brother having reached full werewolf maturity a few months ago—not to mention the fact that he was an Alpha—he was extra careful to not push it too much and end up hurting the younger one. The guy might've been an Alpha like his brother, but he was only sixteen, hadn't gained his full powers yet—and wouldn't for another two years—and was no match for Derek in strength or skill.

Not that Derek thought Scott would be able to take him even when he _did_ reach full maturity, but still. There was a distinct lack of bloodshed between the two brothers and he was gonna keep it that way, if for no other reason than for their mom. She saw enough of the red stuff at her job as a nurse.

Leaning back on the couch, Derek got comfy, legs splayed as he practiced spinning the basketball on the tip of a finger. “Yeah, yeah,” he placated, still thinking his brother's hobby of online role-playing games was by far the nerdiest fucking thing he could think of. And considering his own secret love of classic novels, that was really saying something.

Scott continued to glare for a long moment before a beep from his laptop drew his attention back to the device. The ball fell off Derek's finger and onto his lap, allowing him the chance to lean over and try to peek at the screen, only to have Scott twist it away.

“Back off, Derek,” he ordered, voice more annoyed than anything.

“Why? Afraid I'll see your lame li'l fairy character?” Derek teased, smirk still on his face, dimples formed on the smooth skin.

“Goblin,” Scott corrected again, this time through gritted teeth. Not that he needed to set the elder werewolf straight. Derek knew exactly what kind of mythological being it was. He just didn't give a fuck and preferred to call it a fairy because he knew it bugged his little brother.

This time clearly wasn't any different.

“And I'm not playing _Warcraft_ right now,” the leaner male added, still sounding annoyed that his brother was in his business. “I'm chatting with Stiles.”

Derek rolled his eyes, spinning the basketball on his finger again. “Stiles” was Scott's supposed best friend, a guy he met on WoW that lived in California. Over the past couple years, the two of them had developed a friendship of sorts, chatting online and on the phone constantly, to the point where everyone else in the house knew all about what was going on with Stiles and his sheriff dad.

It was annoying as fuck.

Wouldn't be so bad if Scott had _actual_ friends, people that he saw in real life and interacted with face to face. But the little nerd was as awkward as one could get, always keeping to himself, never hanging out with anyone. Sure, he talked to people on their lacrosse team, got invited to their parties and post-game dinners at the local pizza joint, but he never joined in. And even when he did, he spent the entire time attached to Derek's hip, not talking to anyone. Derek had tried to get convos going between his brother and their teammates, but without fail Scott would start talking Warcraft this and internet that and soon the elder McHale was pulling the younger away before he added to his rapidly expanding reputation as a total dork.

And it wasn't that Derek thought anything was wrong with his brother. The two of them were thick as thieves, partners in crime. They'd driven both their parents crazy as kids, their living room turned into a battlefield as they built forts and launched pillow bombs at each other, their shared bedroom a space station as they fought evil aliens, their small backyard their own personal wildlife preserve where they could wrestle and roll around in the grass until they got too big for any of it and gained their own bedrooms.

But even in their teenage years, Derek still loved his little brother, loved spending time with him. Playtime changed into practicing lacrosse together, Scott playing one-on-one basketball whenever their dad was too busy and Derek wanted to work on his skills. They watched the same TV shows, went to the movies together, hung out on a near daily basis. Derek would even go so far as to say Scott was his best friend. But even with all that, Derek still had other friends he hung out with, teammates he'd party with on the weekend, a girlfriend he went out with, while Scott stayed at home on his computer, chatting with people who may or may not actually be named Stiles and may or may not actually live in California.

That was the thing about the internet. As much as Scott wanted to believe this guy, he could totally be lying about being a sixteen year old living across the country.

Not that Scott took Derek seriously when he said any of that shit, but whatever. Wasn't like Derek hadn't seen every episode of “Catfish” ever.

Focusing his attention on his basketball, Derek kept up the conversation with his brother as he spun the ball with his left hand. “Oh, your imaginary boyfriend?”

That earned him another huff, causing another smirk to form on his face. “Okay,” Scott started, annoyance back in his voice. “One: he's not imaginary.”

“Funny how that's the part you point out first,” Derek commented, his statement going ignored as his brother went on as though he hadn't been interrupted.

“And two: he's not my boyfriend.”

The elder snorted, catching the basketball before it fell onto the floor. “Yeah, right,” he replied with an eye roll. “You guys talk as much as me and Kate. You're totally dating.”

The smaller male turned to the larger, dark eyes locking onto light ones, both wearing a “get serious” expression. “I'm not gay.”

“Didn't say you were.”

“Not all of us are whores like you, Derek.”

“You call it being a whore,” he started, balancing the basketball on his finger again. “I call it keeping my options open.” He grinned at the eye roll he got in response.

Derek's bisexuality wasn't a secret in their family, not since their dad had caught him kissing another guy back in his freshman year. He'd been embarrassed as hell, but after a long talk with both parents, he realized there was nothing to be ashamed of and that it was perfectly okay with them. Explaining it to an eleven year old Scott had been awkward and more than a little difficult, but Derek had managed, Scott taking the whole thing the only way he knew how: with a wide grin, sparkling brown eyes, and an easy-going shrug. Derek doubted anything could get his younger brother down.

Their maternal grandmother—or Abuela, as she preferred to be called—wasn't so thrilled, still believing the whole thing was just a curious phase, especially since he was now in a relationship with a girl. Derek's mom had reassured him that she was just from a different time and had a different mindset and that didn't mean she loved him any less. The words had done their job and he learned not to let it bother him whenever his abuela made any sort of passive-aggressive comment on his sexuality, just like he ignored similar statements from his mom about his girlfriend.

Basketball back on his lap, he pulled his cell out of his jeans pocket, checking for messages. Nothing from Kate. Hardly a surprise. She'd texted him earlier asking if he wanted to go out later that night, an offer he'd turned down, which had unsurprisingly pissed her off. His dad was supposed to be home early to help him practice lacrosse in the park, something that had become a rarity lately as his old man had gotten busier and busier with his job. But no matter how much work he had piled up, he still made sure that the weekend was family time, starting with that Friday night and helping his eldest son try to make captain that year. Derek wanted to end his high school career on top and really leave his mark on his school's athletic history and with his dad's help, he had a good feeling he'd do just that.

But whenever he explained that to Kate, his girlfriend would roll her eyes and mutter out a “whatever”. Despite being a varsity cheerleader, she still didn't see the point in spending so much time practicing, not to mention she loathed having anything to do with her own family and therefore didn't get why Derek would wanna hang with his. His mom let out a non-committal “hmm” when he talked to her about it, obviously trying not to badmouth her son's girlfriend who she obviously disapproved of, despite never saying so out loud. His dad chalked it up to them just coming from different families, that Derek's was closer due to his mom's side being on the west coast and his dad's side having nothing to do with them, leaving them with just each other.

No matter the case, Derek still found himself wishing that Kate understood his desire to hang with his family, especially now that they were preparing to become seniors, meaning it was their last year at home before going off to college. Derek wanted to soak in every last moment he had with his family before he left them. Kate just wanted to leave already.

Sometimes Derek felt like he was just another person she was waiting to ditch as well, just like the rest of her family. Especially when she didn't text him anything other than a “ _fine, loser_ ” when he turned her date offer down.

He decided not to let it bother him, told himself that he'll just head over to her place tomorrow bearing gifts and make it up to her. It'd probably take some grovelling, but whatever. Wasn't like he hadn't done it before.

Relationships between two Alphas weren't without its complications. And ego-blows.

The lack of messages displayed allowed Derek to see the time, making him realize he should probably get a start on making dinner. With his dad always working late and his mom's shifts at the hospitals never resembling anything close to normal, he'd been put in charge of cooking more often than either of his parents. He didn't mind it, especially since it got him out of dishwashing duty. But there was also a small amount of satisfaction that came with seeing others enjoy what he made. Plus he never had to eat something he didn't like, so that was awesome.

Rising to his feet, he put his basketball where he'd been sitting, adjusting his t-shirt around his waist before heading to the kitchen. He heard the usual ticka-ticka-ticka of Scott's fingers across the keyboard as he typed furiously in response to whatever it was Stiles—if that was even his real name—had said, followed by a small silence, a chuckle, then more typing.

Derek sent a quick text to Kate as he walked, asking if she wanted to hang the next day, grateful for werewolf senses that allowed him to do two things at once and not run into a table or a wall. Message sent, he slid his phone back in his pocket and set about trying to find something to make. Grocery shopping the day before had filled their cabinets, giving him countless possibilities, but in all honesty, he was craving meat.

Not much of a change there.

He opened the fridge door, trying to locate the ground meat for burgers, hearing the sound of Scott closing his laptop and placing it on the coffee table before he shuffled his way into the kitchen.

“You and Dad still practicing lacrosse after dinner?” the younger McHale questioned, pulling out a chair and plopping down on it in his usual graceless manner.

Derek nodded, pulling the pack of meat out the fridge as he rose to his full six-foot height. A quick glance out the kitchen window showed it was still light out, one of the upsides of it being mid-June. Not that it mattered really. Being a fully mature werewolf meant Derek now had night-vision, allowing him to see perfectly at midnight as he would at noon.

“Think I could join ya?”

He turned his head to see his brother's lips twisted in a lopsided grin that matched his jaw, hope sparkling in his dark brown eyes. He looked a lot like their mom, something that would just randomly come to Derek at times. But it was true. Both had the same tan skin, same curly black hair, same dark eyes. Made their whole family picture look even more perfect, considering how Derek resembled their dad more with the same wide build and sharp features. His bright eyes weren't from his father though, the patriarch having brown ones like the rest of his family. Derek figured he gained the eye color from someone on his paternal side, since no one ever mentioned why they were that shade, just like no one ever talked about the McHale side of their gene-pool.

Derek shrugged a shoulder in response to his brother's inquiry, not really seeing a problem with it. He'd been planning on practicing shots with their dad, something that Scott could stand to partake in himself. And with the old man being a full-blooded werewolf, he could handle both his sons throwing balls at him at the same time and still defend the goal.

Not that the human half of their DNA slowed them down. The werewolf gene was more dominant, making both McHale boys wolves themselves, giving them all the powers that came with it. Because of that, they were enrolled in the local werewolf academy in Queens, a requirement since werewolves had become a known thing. Human parents had worried about their kids going to school with “monsters” and how unfair athletics would be against those with preternatural abilities. Werewolf parents were more concerned with the schools discriminating against their kids and being unable to understand the problems that came with full moons and heat cycles. So separate school systems were set in place: one for humans, one for Alphas and Betas, another for Omegas, whose powers put them a step above humans but scent made them a target for attacks by Alphas and Betas, especially those close to heat. In order to avoid any rapes or fights amongst Alphas over who gets to claim the Omega, the group was given its own K-12th academy in Manhattan.

Colleges, apparently, were just a free-for-all, although most tended to be understanding and willing to work with werewolves when it came to moon and heat cycles. It was a major topic when Derek had begun his researching process as he tried to figure out where he wanted to apply. He'd been lucky when he found out that most of his top choices all had special allowances for those who tended to grow fur and walk on four legs.

Scott's grin grew, overtaking his entire face, curly hair covering his forehead. Derek kept telling him it looked like he had a fluffy brown bowl over his head, but the younger male didn't take him seriously on that either. Their mom telling him he had a great head of hair didn't help.

“If,” Derek started then paused, watching as his brother's smile dimmed slightly. “It's still light out.”

That killed it.

Scott frowned, lips turned down at the corners as he picked at his thumbnails. Or lack thereof really, considering how much he chewed on them. It was a miracle the guy could produce claws really. “What time's Dad supposed to be home anyway?”

The question had Derek pulling his phone out and rechecking the time. Five fifty-seven. Even with rush hour traffic and the fact that it was a Friday, their dad should've already been home by then.

Assuming he even left at five.

“I dunno,” Derek muttered, putting the packaged ground meat on the counter before typing up a text to their father asking where he was. “Figured he'd be here by now.”

Scott nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he focused on the table. Derek noted how his brow was furrowed, how his eyes seemed distant, recognizing the look.

“It's probably nothing,” he reassured his younger brother, pocketing his cell once more. “He probably got caught up in work again and lost track of time. You know how he is.”

The leaner male nodded more, small smile playing on his lips as he looked up at his brother. “Yeah, probably.” His voice was small, like he wanted to believe it but for some reason didn't. It wasn't like him to be so negative and pessimistic about things, especially when it came to their dad not being home on time. Both of them knew not to fully rely on their old man coming back when he said he would, both well aware that when his dad got into his work, it was hard to take him out of it. They'd heard countless stories of him working through lunch breaks and staying late because he had no idea what time it was, despite the lack of sun in the sky. Derek had lost track of the number of games their dad had missed, figuring their was no point in keeping count. Besides, he always seemed to show up for the ones that _really_ mattered, the first and last ones of the year, the play-offs, any championships, something that made the missed matches not that big a deal.

Derek figured Scott would know that by now, that neither of them should put too much hope into their dad being there at a certain time. It wasn't that he did it on purpose, but being the main source of income for their family meant he had to work a lot, something both kids understood. But he always put his family first, never missing birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays, making sure each event was special and his job wasn't brought up.

Practicing shots with his eldest son in the park on a random Friday night during summer break wasn't what anyone would call special, meaning Derek hadn't really expected his dad to show up on time.

Scott, apparently, had.

Reaching over the table, Derek put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Relax. It's not a big deal,” he reassured him, his heartbeat even and smooth. Scott's hearing wasn't as developed as Derek's, but the elder McHale still hoped the younger could tell there wasn't a lie hidden in there.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Derek straightened up as his phone rang in his pocket. “See? That's probably him now,” he commented with a “told ya so” look on his face, not bothering to check to see who was trying to contact him as he pulled his cell out and answered the call. “Hello?”

“ _Derek?_ ” Definitely not his dad. Not unless his dad had suddenly become an elderly sounding female. An elderly sounding female who was clearly shaken up by something.

Pulling the phone from his ear, he checked the screen to check who had dialed him, finding the number he'd programmed in his contacts under his mom's work displayed.

LaGuardia Hospital.

Shit.

He felt his stomach drop, panic causing a tingle to break out over his skin. Focusing, he tried to keep his breathing even and smooth, despite the fact that his heartbeat felt louder in his ears. But he needed to remain calm in front of his brother, to make sure he didn't cause any anxiety in Scott.

Easier said than done.

Swallowing, he put the phone back against his ear, mind racing with a million thoughts, none of them good. His mom hardly ever called from work, only ever sending an “I'm okay” text during her breaks when she was working overnight shifts and those usually went to his dad's cell. And even on the extremely rare occasion that she _did_ call, she always did it from her own phone, not the hospital's.

Basically, no good was gonna come from this call.

Derek gripped the back of the chair before him, using it to ground himself, refusing to let paranoia and worry take over and cause him to lose control. “Who's calling?” he questioned down the line, feeling a small amount of pride at how even his voice sounded despite the shakiness within himself.

“ _This is Sheila. I work with your mom?_ ” It sounded like a question, like she was making sure Derek knew exactly who she was and why she'd be calling him, before she continued. “ _There's been an accident._ ”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Things went fuzzy for a while after that. Derek vaguely remembered hanging up on Sheila, remembered yelling at Scott to grab his shoes as he raced for the keys to his car, remembered getting in it. The drive itself was a blur, warped images of his claws digging into his steering wheel and his fangs biting into his lower lip until all he could taste was his own blood. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears, skin feeling too tight, too hot. His mind was racing as fast as his Camaro, countless possibilities of what had happened to his mom running through his brain, each one worse than the last.

And it wasn't like he hadn't had those thoughts before. He always worried about her at work, especially on overnight shifts, afraid that someone would come in high on what-the-fuck-ever, that they'd attack and hurt her, stab her, kill her. He worried about feral werewolves showing up and biting, scratching, maiming her. He worried about her being shot by a random crazed gunman, about her being infected after being stuck with a dirty needle, about her being taken by some psych patient who got too attached.

He knew his dad had similar thoughts, would watch the elder McHale rub his cheek on his wife as he held her close, covering her in his scent so no one would touch her. But even still, there was always the possibility of a wolf not caring who she belonged to, would hurt her despite or even because of it. None of the McHale men slept well when she worked during the night, all four members of the family looking like zombies at the breakfast table. Although clearly they were happy zombies, knowing the lone female had survived and had come home to them in one piece.

Apparently they weren't having a meal like that the next morning.

Derek must've parked somewhere because the next thing he knew, he was bursting through the emergency room doors and racing to the counter, the sounds of his younger brother scrambling behind him in his ear. Scott's heartbeat was just as frantic and erratic as his own, despite not knowing what was going on. He had to have had an idea at that point, considering they were at their mother's place of employment and Derek still had visible claws and fangs, eyes glowing red as he stared at the nurse working reception.

“Melissa McHale?” he managed to get out, mentally cringing at the snarl in his words.

The nurse's eyes flashed gold, a sign she was a werewolf and understood his lack of control, that she wasn't offended by his lack of manners or his gruff way of speaking. “Derek and Scott?” she questioned in response, glancing back and forth between both brothers as she rose to her feet.

Her voice was familiar, even without the static of a phone line, and her name tag showed she was Sheila. Derek nodded frantically, breath sawing in and out of his lungs as he tried to get a grip on his emotions and failed. He needed to see his mom, needed to make sure she was okay, needed...

“Down that way,” she pointed to the double-doors on her right, wordlessly giving permission for them to go through. Not that anyone could stop either McHale brother if they tried to go through it without technically being allowed. Getting between a werewolf and an injured family member was tantamount to suicide.

Scott thanked her for both of them, clapping his brother on the back before they both jogged over. Derek shoved the doors open with more force than necessary, racing down the hall with his younger brother on his heels.

He always hated the smell of the hospital, the too strong scents of disinfectants and cleaners, the lingering stench of blood and death, fear and concern. He wondered how any werewolf could stand going to a place where they'd constantly be surrounded by the smells of worry and grief, sickness and disease, but figured they'd get used to it, become immune to it in a sense.

He never would.

Especially as he was hit in the face with a too familiar scent of blood and family, loss and depression, tears and anguish.

Oh. God. No.

Halfway down the hall, a group of nurses stood gathered around someone seated, the air around them thick with despair and loss. Derek's heart plummeted even further into his knotted stomach as he slowed to a stop, his entire being overtaken by the anxiety of his worst fears having been realized. His mind was buzzing like a beehive that had been hit and he felt a thousand stings all over his body, his throat swelling shut, his pounding heart too big in his too tight chest.

The seated figure rose, the group moving to allow her to move, to step forward, to head towards her sons.

Nurse McHale. Their mom was okay.

Derek felt his breath leave him in a rush as relief flooded him at the sight of his mom walking over, noting how there was no limp, no bruises, no cuts. But as he strode over, Scott by his side, he discovered blood on her scrubs—something that could easily be written off as a side-effect of working in an emergency room, since she'd come home on several occasions with her uniform in a similar state. But the tear tracks on her cheeks couldn't be as easily explained, nor could the scent of her grief and loss. And as she reached out to pull both of them into a hug, she began sobbing harder, gripping onto both of their t-shirts as though she was holding them in place, preventing someone from ripping them away from her.

“Mom?” Scott's voice was as shaky as his heartbeat, his own worry a bitter scent in Derek's nose. His brown eyes were wider than usual as they flipped over to his older brother, hoping for some sorta explanation.

But Derek had nothing but a gut-feeling and a godawful theory, having hung up after Sheila had mentioned the word “accident”. Part of him wished he'd gotten the whole story before racing down to LaGuardia. The other part of him realized it wouldn't matter.

Their mom sniffed loudly, lifting her head from where she'd had it buried in Derek's chest. He was vaguely aware of a wet spot that now resided on the front of the fabric, but his mind was more focused on his mother, on the broken look on her face, the deep despair in her dark eyes. She was so small, something that sometimes escaped him as he heard about her fighting to save lives, witnessed her bossing around doctors twice her size and strength, heard her putting her werewolf husband and children in place. But at that moment, she was every inch the tiny, frail human that she truly was.

And Derek was more terrified than ever.

“It's your dad,” she stated before sniffing again, managing to keep her voice even. Her fingers tightened on both her son's t-shirts, her entire body shaking as she tried to keep it all together, only to fail. “He. He's gone.” She broke down once more, face resting on Scott's chest now as her younger son wrapped his lean arms around her and began crying himself.

Derek didn't move, _couldn't_ move. Something inside of him broke off completely, the sound of his entire world crashing down ringing in his head as he stared off at nothing. And as his mother and brother sobbed violently against him, he felt himself go completely numb.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They had to move.

Their mom couldn't stand living in New York City anymore, not after their dad had died. The house had become nothing but a reminder of what had been, every inch holding a memory of the person they'd lost. The armchair where their dad had watched TV. The desk in the corner where he'd paid the bills and did the budget. The chair at the head of the table where he'd eaten every meal. The spot along the sidewalk where he'd parked his car, a car that had been totaled after an eighteen-wheeler had run a red light and side-swiped him on the driver's side.

He'd been killed on impact.

Derek had asked, _demanded_ to be told what happened. Scott didn't wanna hear it, had taken their mom to the break room where he held her as they both cried. But Derek needed to know what had gone down, why his dad had been taken from them so early and so suddenly. And as he listened to the on-call doctor explain the accident and his dad's injuries, he felt himself grow cold, distant. It was like he was listening to someone in another room, forcing him to really focus in order to hear all the words and even when he did, they barely registered.

He didn't remember the drive home or the next few days.

At the funeral, he sat stoically with his mom, she sobbing as she clung onto both her son's hands, the grip bruising to a human. Scott had cried, although it was quieter, subtly wiping away tears with the sleeve of his blazer.

Derek hadn't shed a tear, not even when they lowered his dad's casket into the ground, not even when he stood there watching them shovel dirt back into the hole they made, not even when he planted the wolfsbane flower by the gravestone. His mom couldn't bear to do it. His dad's family hadn't showed up.

His mom had asked if he was okay after the wake, when everyone had gone home and he was busy putting away the leftovers. He'd simply commented that he wondered if people brought families food because no one felt like cooking after someone died and if they didn't supply meals, the family would starve and end up buried next to the person they'd just put in the ground. His mom had given him a look he couldn't—and didn't want to—decipher, so he left the room without uttering another word.

Things didn't get any better. Scott became more withdrawn than usual, sitting sullenly on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. Derek would see him texting every now and then, presumably to Stiles, considering how Scott had brought the other boy up and mentioned how he'd lost a parent, too, so he was able to talk about things with him. But other than that, the younger McHale son was cut-off from his internet world, no social media sites, no WoW, nothing. Derek would hear him sniffing every now and then, would catch the scent of tears and loss on him, but he never saw any crying.

Their mom was just as bad, taking the allotted three grievance days before using her vacation and sick days, remaining in bed for most of the day. On the rare occasion she was up and about, she was always in her pajamas and bathrobe, shuffling like a zombie with unwashed tangled hair and the overwhelming stench of despair and depression hanging around her like oversprayed perfume. She never smiled, which wasn't all that surprising really, the light that seemed to be a constant presence in her dark eyes now gone, her expression as sullen as her mood.

Nurses from LaGuardia would stop by every now and then to offer condolences, along with flowers and baked goods. Derek thought it was a stupid human tradition, insensitive really. To him, cakes and pies were for holidays and birthdays, celebrations of some description, not suitable for telling someone you were sorry for their loss. It was almost like a slap in the face and he trashed every single one Scott brought into the kitchen.

They didn't hear from the McHale side of the family, which seemed perfectly normal considering that was how things had been the first eighteen years of Derek's life. He'd just thought that the death of one of them would cause them to put aside petty bullshit and reach out to the next generation of their bloodline. Apparently he was wrong.

His abuela called on a daily basis, Scott always answering the house phone and lying about how things were okay there. He'd jog up to their mom's room to tell her who was on the line, only to sullenly return and say it wasn't a good day.

“ _It's never a good day,_ querido.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Derek stopped talking completely. Aside from his commentary on people providing food at wakes and telling his mom that Kate wasn't coming to the funeral—which earned him an “I'm sorry, sweetheart” that he ignored—he hadn't said a word since that night at the hospital when his dad had died. He just didn't have anything to say. To anyone.

Scott had offered to talk, which had gotten him a slammed door to the face. His mom would rub his arm and ask if he was okay, which he'd ignore and leave the room, abandoning whatever task he'd been in the middle of. Friends and teammates had texted their condolences, but he wouldn't reply. He went over to Kate's once, the day before the funeral, but spent the entire time sitting there, unresponsive even to her touches. She ended up getting annoyed and told him if he wasn't gonna fuck her, he might as well leave.

And he did just that. He hadn't talked to her since.

Derek became even more cut-off than his mom and brother, who at least responded to other people's inquiries over their state of being. His mom forced small talk with her fellow nurses, crying on offered shoulders when her emotions became too heightened and everything was just too much. Scott had Stiles that he leaned on via texts, talking to his online buddy about whatever was on his mind. And it wasn't that Derek didn't have anyone, because he did. He just didn't want them.

A week after they buried his dad, his mom announced they were moving to California. She needed a change, _they_ needed a change, she explained, further adding that she still had family out there and all three of them could use the support during this time. God knew they weren't getting it from the other McHales.

Scott nodded, tiny smile on his face as he agreed to the plan, saying whatever their mom wanted and thought was best, ever the supportive one. Derek simply got up from his seat on the couch and headed straight to his room without looking at either of them.

Standing in his room, he stared at his belongings, at the trophies and awards he'd received playing sports. It had been something he shared with his dad, father-son bonding through a shared love of physical competition. His dad had taught him how to play, how to sink a free-throw, spin a ball on his finger, make a pass behind his back, how to trick the goalie, avoid defenders, use his wolf-vision to find the ball even in the rain.

But now his dad was gone. No more one-on-one basketball, no more practicing lacrosse shots, no paternal cheerleading from the crowd.

No more sports.

In one swift move, he knocked the trophies off one his shelves, before smashing the actual shelves. Ribbons were torn, trophies broken, certificates slashed, all in a fit of rage. His vision was red and all he could think about was destroying all of it, of breaking it into pieces, just like his family had been. His entire world had come crashing down due to a red light and a smashed car. It was only fitting he do the same to the very thing that he'd allow to define him for so long.

_“You're Andrew McHale's kid, right? The athlete?”_

Not anymore.

When it was done, when nothing remained of his former self, he stood there observing the damage through red-tinted vision, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing, his body shaking. A glance in the mirror showed he was in his hybrid form, fangs on display, claws extended, brow hardened and enlarged as his sideburns grew longer. He'd completely lost it, had allowed his wolf partial control. And it'd felt amazing.

His dad wouldn't be proud that he'd lost his grip, hadn't kept a hold of his anchor and stayed human, stayed calm and in control.

That thought made him want to fully wolf out and just forget to be human ever again. He had a feeling they wouldn't figuratively stop their lives because someone had literally had their's stopped for them.

Grabbing his keys, Derek stormed out his room, through the house, and out the front door to his car, all thoughts centered on getting to a local wooded preserve in order to shift and run. He needed to run, needed the wind in his fur, needed the numb, emotionless state that came with being in his full wolf form.

He briefly considered staying a wolf for the rest of his life. Sounded a million times better than how things were going for him at that moment.


	2. Move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignoring any and all comments and the fandom uproar that happened this week and just gonna say HEY LOOK A CHAPTER YOU SHOULD READ AND TELL ME WHATCHA THINK OF IT AND STUFF \ (^u^) /
> 
> Also I just really like that smiley dude guyer thing...
> 
> Um, a scene towards the end of this chapter might seem a li'l slightly tiny bit dub-con-y, so...warning for that. "The Lost Boys" is property of whoever in the 80s made it (and hopefully not whatever dumbass who decided there should be a sequel with Taylor Townsend from "The OC"—whom I love, but no, sweetheart. No.). I just referenced it with love. Other than that, enjoy, lemme know whatcha think, and have a Palm Woods Day :D

The move took place six weeks after his dad had been buried.  
  
Derek had returned to his house after the sun had long set, ignoring Scott's questions about where he'd been and why was he covered in dirt and sweat. The younger werewolf couldn't fully shift yet and therefore didn't know about the relief that came with running on four legs and letting go of everything that made you human, even if it was only temporary. Derek wasn't about to explain it.  
  
The broken trophies, awards, and certificates were gone when he'd walked into his room. He never asked where they went or who cleaned it up. He remained silent but thankful that he didn't have to deal with that shit himself.  
  
The next week was dedicated to Melissa getting the house ready to sell, which meant obsessively cleaning it. Scott and Derek were recruited to help, Scott obviously pleased to see her up and about and spending more time out of bed than in it. Derek welcomed the distraction of doing something other than having to deal with everyone's depression over the McHale patriarch's death.  
  
Melissa dealt with the realtor, sending the boys out whenever the house was being shown to perspective buyers. Scott would request lacrosse practice, would offer to play one-on-one basketball, but Derek said no every time. The younger McHale gave up after a week.  
  
It took about a month for the house to sell, after which they got serious about packing everything, an event that took about two days. The furniture was put into storage, boxes of their belongings sent off to California a few days before their moving date, leaving the house an empty husk of what had once been a home. Derek tried not to see it as a metaphor and failed. His last night there, he'd laid awake on top of his sleeping bag in the middle of his bare room, staring at his ceiling as he thought about how much he felt like the chamber itself. Both were hollow and void of anything resembling life, but unlike him, his room would soon be inhabited by someone else, someone who would appreciate the blue walls and the hardwood floors, the large windows and decent sized closet, the spacious interior and attached bathroom.  
  
He couldn't say the same about himself.  
  
Breakfast was at their favorite diner before they got in a cab and headed to the airport to fly to California. Their cars had been shipped ahead of time to their abuela's house, Melissa assuring Derek that his Camaro would be fine and would make it in one piece. Part of him hoped it crashed, but he didn't say so out loud. He still hadn't spoken since after his dad's wake.  
  
They landed in San Fran at noon local time, their abuela there to pick them up. Maria Delgado was a petite woman, her olive skin wrinkled, her thick black shoulder-length hair streaked with gray, long caramel cardigan swallowing her fragile frame as she reached out to them with arthritic hands. She smothered her daughter in a bone-crushing hug, Spanish condolences and words of comfort rolling off her tongue in hushed tones Derek heard solely due to his werewolf auditory skills. She then hugged Scott and commented on how big he'd gotten, the compliment making him beam and smile bigger than he had for a few weeks. She looked Derek up and down before asking how “that girlfriend of yours is”. He shrugged and shook his head, Melissa supplying the info that he'd broken up with her. Hadn't been a hard decision really. He hadn't spoken to her in weeks and the move made a good excuse.  
  
'Course doing it via text message probably wasn't the best idea, especially considering her response was a simple “ _fuck you, derek._ ” but he didn't care. It was over. That was the only thing that mattered.  
  
The four of them piled into Maria's car—a station wagon, because of course she'd have one—Melissa insisting on driving. Their suitcases stashed in the back, she got behind the wheel, her mom in the passenger seat providing directions that were always paired with a “I know, Mom, thanks.” Scott sat in the middle of the backseat, leaning forward between the two front ones, clearly excited to be starting a new adventure. Derek was silent as always, staring out the side window and watching the scenery whiz by in blurs of green, brown, and gray.  
  
He hated California already.  
  
He could feel Melissa watching him through the rear view mirror, could smell the concern rolling off her, mixing with Scott's joy and Maria's own mix of the two emotions.  
  
“Ya know,” the younger female started, and he closed his eyes, really wishing she wouldn't. He wasn't in the mood for any conversations to be started, to hear any lectures or talks about whatever the hell she wanted to discuss. “Silence is golden” was a cliché for a reason, mostly because it was true.  
  
“I think this will be good for us,” she stated with a sharp nod to the head, as though backing up her own argument. “A fresh start, with the fresh air, being surrounded by supportive people who are far less judgmental than New Yorkers. This is _exactly_ what we need.”  
  
Derek ground his teeth, resting his scruff covered jaw on his hand as he reopened his eyes and watched as a red sedan sped by them on the outside lane. He wished his iPod battery hadn't died during the flight. He could use his headphones at that moment, could use the auditory blocks of Linkin Park screaming in his ears rather than having to listen to whatever bullshit his mom was spouting as a means to justify her stupid decisions. They didn't need to move clear across the country, didn't need a fresh start. They needed Andrew back.  
  
“Isn't this how 'The Lost Boys' started?” Scott questioned, referring to some stupid vampire movie he'd made Derek watch months ago because Stiles had insisted it was a “classic”. Could hardly count as a classic when it was from the eighties, but that was beside the point. “The mom and her two sons in the car heading to their new California home where they'd be staying with one of her parents, only it's full of literal stuffed animals and the town is infested with vampires and the elder almost turns into one?”  
  
The elder brother in their current _actual_ situation rolled his eyes. Only Scott would get so worked up over a hypothetical situation inspired by a stupid fucking movie.  
  
“Except there's no vampires in Beacon Hills,” Melissa pointed out calmly, sounding a little too insistent.  
  
“Just the usual werewolves and hunters,” Maria added, smirking at her youngest grandson. “And don't worry. I don't practice in taxidermy.”  
  
“Too bad,” Derek spoke up, turning his head and looking at the others. “I was looking forward to impaling someone on a set of deer antlers.”  
  
Scott stared at him with his eyes wide and his uneven jaw dropped. Maria raised her eyebrows, looking taken aback before turning to her daughter for a confirmation that he was actually joking. Melissa glared at him via the rear view mirror.  
  
“Six weeks of not talking and _that_ is what you chose to say?” she questioned, voice hard as she scolded him, sounding a lot like it had when he was a kid and she ordered him to stop telling Scott there was a monster under his bed that ate his skin while he slept and that the tooth fairy would take his fangs if he ever bit anyone.  
  
Derek shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly, wordlessly saying he didn't see the big deal about what he'd said, before turning back to the window.  
  
Scott moved back to the seat opposite Derek on the back row, Maria turning to face the windshield, Melissa sighing. The rest of the ride was as silent as the eldest McHale son.  
  
Derek felt no remorse for killing the mood

~*~*~*~*~*~

  
Maria's home turned out to be a perfectly normal two-story house in a nice suburban neighborhood. Comprised of red brick, Derek took note of the painted front porch with its iron railings, the door and shutters all black, the slanted roof with its stereotypical black shingles. It was nothing extraordinary, nothing special, but as the station wagon pulled into the driveway, he heard Melissa let out a sigh that made it seem as though it was the most spectacular thing she'd ever seen.  
  
Then again, if they were to turn the car around and head right back to NYC, he'd probably make a similar noise at the sight of their old house.  
  
The engine killed, all four of them got out the car, stretching cramped limbs after a two hour drive. Scott made noises that made it seem as though his joints were as bad as Maria's and Derek fought the urge to throw something at his head in order to give him something to _really_ feel achy over.  
  
Too bad he didn't have anything in his grasp at that moment. Maria probably wouldn't appreciate him throwing the entire car.  
  
Suitcases were grabbed and they headed towards the front door, following the eldest member of their group. Derek scanned his surroundings, taking in the other houses, the cars parked in various driveways. Someone a few lawns down was mowing, a mail truck was heading down the opposite side of the road, birds were chirping in trees as a squirrel raced across the road, barely being missed by a sedan. All in all, it was pretty typical of a mid-sized town, nothing too exciting or out of the norm there.  
  
He hated it.  
  
Sure, they lived in nice neighborhood in Queens, not exactly the thriving metropolis that was downtown Manhattan, but still close enough to the city that it was never boring. It was a quick drive to get to the excitement, something Derek did often enough, relishing the sights, sounds, and scents of the Big Apple.  
  
But here? Here it was quiet and calm and peaceful and everything Derek _didn't_ want. He wanted loud, he wanted crazy, he wanted wild. He wanted to not be in California living with an octogenarian.  
  
And just like everything else in his life, he wasn't getting what he wanted.  
  
The inside of the house was cool, the AC at just the right temp to fight off the heat of an early August day. The walls were a sunny yellow, the furniture all light oak, and the place had the warm feeling of a family home, despite there only being one person residing in it.  
  
Well, until that day at least.  
  
Maria didn't bother with a tour, the family having spent multiple vacations visiting her at this very house. Vacations that saw Scott and Derek sharing one of the two guestrooms.  
  
Shit.  
  
It wasn't that Derek had an issue in the past with the two of them sharing the same space. But that was usually only for a week, and it hadn't happened since he was twelve when his dad's increasing work schedule made family vacations out west a memory rather than a yearly thing. And all of that was long before Derek had decided that he was completely done with the whole interacting with other people bullshit. Not to mention the fact that he and Scott were a bit too old for living in the same room, even if the elder brother _was_ up for being social and nice. Which he wasn't.  
  
Scott was shown to the first guestroom up the stairs, Maria suggesting that he get started on unpacking his suitcase. Their boxes weren't scheduled to arrive until the next day, allowing them the chance to decompress after the flight and focus on adjusting to the new environment—and time zone—rather than having to deal with sorting things out and putting everything away.  
  
Melissa was lead into the second guestroom and Derek could smell the anguish rolling off her as she set her eyes on the queen sized bed against the wall, the framed photo of her wedding on one of the nightstands. Scott left his room and pulled her into a one-armed hug as her own mother squeezed her hand in a sympathetic motion. Derek remained in the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at a framed panoramic photo of Maria's hometown in Mexico, not really seeing the image.  
  
So much for their fresh start. Seemed like things were gonna be just as shitty in California as they had been in New York, only now with the added bonus of mourning over the loss of his and Scott's childhood home and the life they'd had there. The only life they'd known really. And now it was gone, just like their dad.  
  
Fucking terrific.  
  
After several minutes of insisting she was okay—which was a total lie—Scott went back to his room looking like a rejected puppy, complete with invisible tail between the legs. Maria gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek before turning to her eldest grandson, motioning with her head for him to follow. Adjusting his grip on his suitcase, Derek nodded once before following her down the hall.  
  
At the end sat a door he knew opened up to the attic stairs and she led him up them, holding onto the railing to aid her steps. Derek rolled his eyes at the slow pace, wanting the whole thing to just be over with already so he can be left the fuck alone. But no. Once again the universe was punishing him over some bullshit and he was stuck with exactly what he didn't want. Because that was his life now. Getting what he wasn't asking for, and receiving nothing he was actually desiring.  
  
He figured he might as well just get used to it.  
  
Didn't mean he didn't wanna claw off his own fucking skin or rip someone's throat out with his teeth though.  
  
When they _finally_ reached the top of the stairs, Maria flipped on a light switch, illuminating the space via strategically placed bulbs set on the beam that ran along the center of the room. The roof slanted down where they stood, forcing Derek to slightly hunch over in order to fit his six-foot frame, his petite abuela having no issue with the low ceiling in that section of the space. Turning, he stepped past the railing guarding people from falling down the stairs and entered the attic proper, allowing him to scan the place and get a good look at it.  
  
The attic took up the entire third story, wood flooring covering the whole space with no exposed insulation, unlike the attic they had back in New York that was used mostly for storage. The ceiling rose to a point along the center, dividing the room in half lengthways, a dirt-covered window on either end.  
  
The pathway to the window on the right was partially obstructed by boxes of various sizes, age, and dust levels, along with a few odd pieces of decor: an old tall lamp, a mirror, a black trunk, a low set of drawers. Junk, in Derek's opinion, all without a proper place, relegated to this out of the way room and completely forgotten about. He tried not to think too much about what it meant that he was given this room, instead turning his head to check out the other side of it.  
  
Under the window to the left was a queen-sized mattress and box spring set, two pillows and a sheet set stacked on top of them. To the right of the frameless bed was a milk crate with a lamp, a makeshift nightstand of sorts. A desk was situated along the left side of the area, a plain wooden chair tucked under it, neither matching, a tall oscillating fan just to the right of it aimed towards the bed. A tall set of drawers was over to the right of the space, obviously acting as a closet of sorts, since the place was never really designed to be a bedroom.  
  
Which kinda made all the electrical outlets a bit of question, but whatever. Just meant Derek didn't have to waste his own time installing them.  
  
"This will be your room," Maria unnecessarily stated, stepping further into the open space in the middle of the attic. "I figured you and Scott were a bit too big to share one, and with you being older and apparently less social—" she gave him a pointed look that wordlessly told him that his mom had been telling her all about his recent lack of communicating with anyone. Whatever. "—you'd want the more private space."  
  
Derek didn't say a word—not much of a change there—just simply meandered his way over to the mattress, dropping his suitcase unceremoniously on top. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of dust and wood, the musty smell of old things, Maria's perfume that she insisted on wearing despite knowing she had werewolf grandsons who couldn't stand that shit. The smell of everything was off and he felt his wolf-half whine internally, thrown off by all the changes in its surroundings. The human-half wasn't too stoked on things either, but it wasn't like either of them had a choice.  
  
"I had the sheriff and his son help me move the mattress and desk up here," she continued, oblivious to her grandson's lack of interest or completely uncaring. "They live next door, both very handsome and helpful, good people."  
  
Derek stood with his back to her, eyes closed, fingers pinching his brow as he felt the beginnings of a headache. Between his wolf's obvious displeasure at its new environment and the less than suitable scents hanging around what was now his room, he was agitated as hell. The fact that he was being forced to be social—to a degree anyway—certainly wasn't helping shit and he had to consciously focus on not wolfing out and snapping at Maria to just fuck off already.  
  
Human or not, she could be scary in her own way.  
  
Besides, it wasn't like he had any interest in becoming friendly with the neighbors—or anyone else for that matter. His stay in Beacon Hills was temporary, a year max, before he was off to college—hopefully one back east. Getting to know someone—regardless of whether he had any interest in doing just that in the first place—was a stupid idea and one he wasn't about to give in to.  
  
"I know it doesn't have a whole lot," she went on, her mule clogs scraping against the wood floor as she shuffled around behind him. "But I figure with you leaving for college soon, you won't need that much. And if you _do_ need something else, then feel free to take something from the other side of the attic. Or the basement. There's more stuff there."  
  
He nodded because it seemed like the thing to do, dropping his hand with a slap against his denim clad thigh. The sparse furniture suited him just fine, gave the place an impersonal feel, which was exactly what he wanted. Anything more and he might actually feel inclined to stay, which just wasn't fucking happening. He wanted out and away from people, away from connections, away from having ties that could be severed between one heartbeat and the next. After all, if you didn't care about someone, then it didn't hurt when they were taken from you.  
  
He wasn't gonna allow himself to be hurt ever again.  
  
He heard Maria let out a resigned sigh, ignored her muttered Spanish prayer for strength and patience, barely nodded when she suggested he get settled and informed him dinner would be in a couple hours. Her slow footsteps receded down the stairs, punctuated by the door closing at the bottom, and Derek let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He was alone.  
  
Finally.  
  
With a heavy sigh of his own, he turned and slumped down onto the mattress, surprised when only a minimum amount of dust came flying up. He had an absent thought of someone cleaning the bed, but let it go as quickly as it came, deciding it didn't matter who or how or why, just that it did and that it now smelled less musty than it could have.  
  
Flopping onto his back, he rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly, feeling the rasp of six week's worth of not shaving scratch against his rough palms. He hadn't shaved since the day of his dad's funeral. He wondered if he ever would again and decided he wouldn't. He liked the look of it, liked the way it added to his lack-of-fucks-given aura, liked his mom's obvious disapproval at it.  
  
Plus shaving was a hassle he just couldn't bring himself to even _think_ about dealing with, much less actually doing it. So bearded he shall remain.  
  
Derek let his hands flop back above his head, causing scents buried in the mattress to rise up. He caught a whiff of the metal springs, foam core, and cotton outer layer, the dust and dirt from previous use, the distinctive odors of two males, one human and one werewolf.  
  
It was the final two scents his wolf focused on, taking them apart and analyzing each note. There was a similar ring to them, leading him to believe they were related to one another. Probably the neighbor and his kid that Maria had previously mentioned, his mind supplied, making sense. But there was something about the more canine scent that Derek became entranced by, something he wanted to explore further, something that grabbed him by the nose and pulled him in...  
  
His face was buried in the mattress, a fact he was only aware of when he tried to inhale deeply and found himself being slightly suffocated.  
  
Derek shot up to his feet and over by the desk with lightning fast reflexes, his chest heaving as air rushed back into his lungs. His body felt tense, rigid, a coil wrapped too tight and ready to explode and it was only when he glanced down that he noticed he was trembling, claws extended, a red tinge to everything as his wolf sight took over.  
  
What the fuck?  
  
He took several deep breaths, in through the noise, out through the mouth, forcing himself to relax. He focused on the smell of the must, the dirt, the age of everything in the room, refused to think about the male scents on the mattress.  
  
He slipped up.  
  
Twice.  
  
The third time he realized it was due to the underlying note in the werewolf's scent that he hadn't picked up originally, a certain sweet hint that was practically guaranteed to drive an Alpha like him crazy, thus fully explaining his need to bury himself in a mattress nose first.  
  
The wolf was an Omega.  
  
Fucking terrific.  
  
Derek smeared a hand over his face, shook his head, cracked his neck, forcing himself to pull it together. The smell would fade, would be wiped out and covered by his own scent as he used the mattress himself, claimed it as his own territory and property.  
  
He stopped himself before giving into the wolfy urge to roll around on top of the mattress, rubbing his check and scent-marking it. He hadn't done that since he was eight and Scott kept stealing his favorite Transformer action figure. He wasn't about to do it at his age as a fully grown—and mature—werewolf.  
  
Besides, scent-marking like that meant he was staking a claim, that that thing—or person—was his permanently and that no one could take it—or them—from him. He wasn't about anything permanent these days, not when it could be so easily ripped away.  
  
Feeling like he was in better control of his... well, his _everything_ , Derek stepped back over to the bed in careful, cautious motions. He knew it wasn't gonna hurt him, couldn't suddenly leap up and bite him and demand his submission, but he couldn't prevent the wariness he felt when approaching it, the slight worry of having something as harmless as a scent overpower him like that again.  
  
Fucking Omegas. Theoretically he knew that their scent could drive an Alpha wild, could hit the baser instincts and turn them into the animal they kept locked inside most days of the month. It was why Omegas had their own schools, why certain laws had been created after the "outing" of werewolves, to protect them from a feral rutting Alpha who didn't care about the words "no" or "stop" or "don't", only caring about giving into the primal instinct of mating.  
  
But it was one thing to know all that, an entirely different thing to be hit in the face with the lingering scent of one. He felt like he finally fully understood all the necessary safety precautions put in place to protect Omegas, understood his dad's painful expression as he tried to explain to a then five year old Derek why his best friend at the time, Jimmy, wouldn't be going to the same kindergarten—or even the same school—as him and that it would be better for Derek to find new friends, _Beta_ friends. Derek had reluctantly agreed, although a lot of his friends turned out to be other Alphas, including his now-ex.  
  
Funny, but Derek hadn't really thought about Jimmy since then, except a passing thought after his first heat a few months ago and an absent worry about whether the guy was okay. He'd heard Omegas had it worse during their time and if his was that bad, he couldn't imagine how terrible his childhood friend had had it. But then Kate had text him to come over and all thoughts of heats and Omegas and long lost pals had fled as fast as the " _k_ " text he'd replied with.  
  
Shoving thoughts of everyone and everything aside, Derek grabbed his suitcase off the bed and dropped it into the worn desk with a thud. Pillows were tossed onto the floor before he mechanically went through the motions of making the bed up. He caught the unknown Omega's scent twice, both times having to stop to collect himself—and prevent his claws from tearing into the sheet or mattress—inhaling deep gulps of air until his vision normalized. The pillows were thankfully new and he was able to put the cases over them without incident. He halfway considered turning the mattress the other way, since the Omega's scent was near the wall where his head would be laying, but decided he didn't have enough fucks left to do it. Besides, he wasn't gonna let some odor beat him. He was an Alpha, for fuck's sake, not some little bitch.  
  
He tossed the pillows by the wall and spread the flat sheet out over the top of the mattress, making sure it was close to even on both sides. Job done, he flopped face-down on top of it, burying his nose in the pillows, taking in the sterile scent of the store they came from and the supposed mountain fresh smell of the laundry detergent the cases and sheets had been washed in.  
  
The Omega's scent wasn't completely gone, but it was mostly dulled down, to the point where it was bearable and he could easily ignore it. He'd have to really search it out in order to fully smell it, which he had no intention of doing—at least that's what his human half believed. And since it was currently in control, it beat the wolf's urge to seek it out and roll around in it.  
  
He tried not to think too much on what that could mean. Then he tried not to think about anything, getting lost in the sound of three distinct heartbeats in the house and ignoring the depression that came with the realization that the third didn't belong to who he wanted it to.  


~*~*~*~*~*~

  
The scents of browning meat, spices, and tortillas woke Derek up from a nap he wasn't aware he'd been taking. Pushing himself up, he inhaled sharply, analyzing each smell, before trying to orient himself. Maria's attic, on his stomach on the mattress that was now his bed.  
  
A mattress with a dizzying scent.  
  
Shaking his head, he pushed back until he was sitting on his knees, rubbing his face in an attempt to fully wake up. There was no clock in the room so he had no idea what time it was, but he figured he had to have been out for a couple hours. The room was darker now and as he glanced out the window behind him on the other side of the room, he could see the sun was lower, the sky dimmer.  
  
He shoved a hand through his hair, causing the black locks to spike up more than usual, slowly rising to his feet. The flight had made him groggy, cagey, his wolf hating to be trapped for long periods of time like that. The jet lag wasn't helping things, especially as his stomach grumbled, reminding him it was past dinner time in New York.  
  
His internal clock would be reset in a couple days, would adjust. He wasn't too sure about the rest of him.  
  
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Derek made his way to the stairs and down them, opening the door silently. The scents of Maria's cooking hit him full force, his stomach growling louder, like a obscenity-laced tirade reminding him that food exists and should be in him _now_. Not in the mood to argue, he padded his way down the hall, the sounds of conversation and laughter rising to greet him.  
  
He found her standing behind the stove, stirring something in a frying pan—taco meat, if the shells laying on a nearby baking tray were anything to go by. Melissa was chopping something the next counter over—a quick sniff telling Derek it was tomatoes—as Scott put small bowls of cheese and lettuce on the table. With five settings.  
  
Derek glared at the fifth seat, hating how normal it looked on the round table. It was the spot his dad always took, the same chipped plate and torn placemat. It wasn't unusual for a younger Derek and Scott to help by putting the dishes and cutlery out, to put those items there for their father, who would smirk and wink at his two boys for putting the same ones there every time.  
  
But their dad was gone, wouldn't be joining them for dinner, and Derek had to fight the urge to smash the plate against the wall, just so it'd be just as gone as the man who used to eat off it.  
  
“ _Hola, querido._ ”  
  
His head snapped over to Maria, the frown remaining on his face as he pointed at the offending place setting. “Who?” he growled, not sure if he was asking who had put it there or who the hell was gonna use it. As far as he'd known, it was just gonna be a family dinner, only the four of them as they all got adjusted to the new living situation. Now suddenly there was a guest, a guest who'd be taking his dad's seat and using his dad's dishes. Not something he'd be all too happy about even if he was his previous social self.  
  
Even less so now that he knew he was being forced to interact with someone he didn't know.  
  
Because things just weren't awesome enough.  
  
“Stiles,” Scott replied flatly, causing Derek's head to jerk over to him.  
  
“The fuck is a 'Stiles'?” he growled back.  
  
Melissa called his name in a warning tone, obviously a chastise against his language, while the other Alpha rolled his eyes.  
  
“Stiles?” the younger McHale son repeated, this time in a “you seriously gotta be kidding me that you don't remember” tone. “My best friend? Turns out he lives in Beacon Hills.”  
  
“Right next door,” Maria added on cheerfully, tapping her wooden spoon on the edge of the frying pan before adjusting the heat on the stove ring.  
  
“Yup.” Scott practically beamed, looking like a giant puppy who'd been given a new bone for being a good boy, dark eyes twinkling, lopsided grin as big as ever.  
  
It was Derek's turn to roll his eyes, unable to believe any of this shit. Out of all the towns in the world, they moved to the one where his younger brother's online bromantic interest lived. And right next door, too. Because if the universe was gonna shit all over Derek, of fucking course it would pour down rainbows on Scott. It was how things seemed to be working for them lately.  
  
Yet another upside about living in Cali-fucking-fornia.  
  
Melissa called for Scott's assistance, the younger male literally bounding over, that stupid smirk still on his face. Derek wanted to punch it off him. Their dad had died; he had no right to be so fucking happy about anything.  
  
Derek heard the footsteps on the porch before the ring of the doorbell, green eyes glancing between the backs of the other three members of the room, an eyebrow raised in a silent question as to whether or not someone was gonna answer that.  
  
“Derek, can you get the door, hun?” Melissa requested, answering the inquiry he hadn't voiced.  
  
Shit.  
  
Not bothering to hide his huff, he turned and scuffed his way through the living room towards the front door, boots loud on the wooden floors. He found the door surprisingly unlocked, the knob turning easily within his grasp, the solid oak door barely resisting as he pulled it open.  
  
The scent was the first thing that hit him, full force, like a blow to the head and the gut at the same time. It was the same smell that lingered on the mattress, the one that had him burying his face in it to try and get a better whiff. Yet there it was, without any dilution, without any blocks, only the additional light odors of cotton, denim, and some form of hair product.  
  
Derek wanted to drown in it.  
  
Without thinking, Derek's right hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of flannel and yanking the owner of the scent inside, spinning him around before slamming him against the wall. Distantly, he heard the sound of an “oomf!”, the sound of the air being knocked out of someone, the sound of a low rumbling growl. But he didn't care. His vision had shifted to shades of red and orange, his teeth elongated into fangs, and all he could think about was getting more of that smell in his nose, held within his lungs, and _now_.  
  
“Hey, man, what the fuck?”  
  
The protest went ignored as he buried his face in the smooth column of a soft neck. A _male_ neck, judging by the note of testosterone held within the stranger's scent. Derek kept hold of the shirt as he inhaled deep, analyzing every layer and texture of the smell, the laundry detergent he used to wash his clothes—which smelled suspiciously like the one used on the sheets covering Derek's makeshift bed—the fabric he wore, the chemicals in his unscented deodorant, the cheeseburger he'd had for lunch, not stopping until he got to the very core of it. It was sweet, tempting, causing a buzz in Derek's head like he'd had too much sugar and caffeine and he wanted to race around the Grand Canyon five hundred times just because he could and because he wanted to prove that Red Bull really had given him wings.  
  
He inhaled again, the scent further invading every inch of him until it was all he knew, until it was all he could breathe, until it had penetrated him right down to his very soul. His blood was rushing, pounding in his ears, pooling inside his jeans as the scent permeated his being and brought him higher than he thought possible.  
  
And that was just from two inhales.  
  
The third had him wrapping his free arm around a slender waist, pulling a lean frame against his broader one. He heard the sharp inhale of the other male, felt the shudder racing through an otherwise tense body, smelled his scent get stronger as a new spice joined in the mixture.  
  
Arousal.  
  
Derek's growl intensified, grew louder as he pressed himself against the stranger even more, trapping him between his body and the wall. He felt his cock harden, lengthen within the tight confines of his jeans and he moved his hips insistently against the lean frame he clung to. All rational thought had left his brain, his wolf controlling his actions, body acting completely on instinct. And at that moment, everything within him was screaming to just grab the guy, take him upstairs, and never let him leave.  
  
' _Mine._ '  
  
He trailed his nose up along the column of the other male's neck, rumbling appreciatively at the shiver he received in response, at the spike in the stranger's scent, at the small moan that just barely escaped past parted lips. The leaner male was pliant in his arms, yielding, allowing Derek to do anything and everything he wanted to—which was a lot, judging by the racing thoughts in his head.  
  
As soon as the clothes were out the way.  
  
Really, what the fuck was the point of clothing anyway? It was just wasting precious naked time, delaying the skin-on-skin action, obstructing the pure scent of this male, this stranger, this person who had so completely captivated Derek within seconds. He wanted the leaner one sprawled out on his bed, nude, wanted to be able to run his nose all over bare skin and take in his scent before covering it with his own, marking him, mingling their scents so that everyone around knew who he belonged to, that he was Derek's and that nobody better touch him unless they _wanted_ to lose a vital body part.  
  
Or twelve.  
  
He nuzzled into the other male's neck, scruff rasping smooth skin, before he grazed his teeth along the side of his throat. It would be so easy, so quick, just a tiny shift of his jaw and he could bite down, permanently mark, _claim_ this person as his, let the entire world know what he already did: that the stranger was his.  
  
' _Mine._ '  
  
“Uh, Derek?”  
  
His growls took on a more aggressive tone, his head lifting from the stranger's neck. He gripped onto the other male tighter, hunching over him to protect him from the intruder, feeling the stranger's body go rigid. Turning slightly, he bared his teeth to whoever had called his name, not caring who it was, only that they interrupted, that they were close to what was his, that they were a threat to take him away.  
  
No fucking chance.  
  
“Derek.” The human part of him recognized it as Scott's voice, that the younger McHale was trying to keep an even tone, that there was a slight warning underneath it. “Let go of Stiles.”  
  
A brief flash hit him that that he should know what that meant, who that was, that those words put together should have some sort of significance. But his human side wasn't in control, his wolf having taken over and deciding his actions.  
  
No way could that end badly.  
  
“Derek, sweetie?” It was Melissa speaking now, cautious, easy. His head snapped to her, his snarls continuing, despite the fact that she didn't pose a threat. Her hands were in front of her, as though she was calming a wild animal—which, essentially, she was—her body slightly curled to show she meant no harm, the language of her frame speaking of submission. Inhaling sharply, Derek caught a whiff of her scent, of the fear and anxiety that had added a bitter note to her usual pleasant smell. Her heartbeat was tripping, bouncing, rapid, going along with the worry that was rolling off her.  
  
Going along with three other heartbeats in the room.  
  
With wide bright eyes, Derek took in the other occupants. Scott was to Melissa's left, his own body language similar to hers, only less submissive, the Alpha in him refusing to let him be afraid or bow down to anyone, regardless of age rankings. Maria was in the doorway leading to the kitchen, watching with concerned interest, her arthritic hands wringing a dishtowel. Her own fear was the sharpest scent, obviously unused to the nature of werewolves and their aggressive natures.  
  
“Stiles isn't gonna hurt anyone,” Melissa continued in the same calming tone as before, one she'd had plenty experience in using while raising two Alpha werewolf sons. “Just. Let him go, okay?” She nodded her head slowly, gently, as though that would help convince him to just agree with what she's saying.  
  
Her words managed to cut through the fog of arousal and possession that the stranger's—that _Stiles'_ scent had created, clearing Derek's head and allowing him to fully take in the situation and come to grips with what exactly was happening. And what was happening wasn't all that great. His family seemed to believe that Derek was viewing Stiles as a threat, that he was attacking the teenager because he was a danger to them, that he was gonna harm this relatively unknown person out of some primal instinct to defend his territory and family.  
  
And from the way Stiles' scent shifted from something sweet and tempting to bitter and fearful, it was clear he was thinking along the lines of everyone else, that Derek had every intention of hurting him for invading their space.  
  
Shit.  
  
Shame curled in Derek's belly, a hot ball of guilt branding him from the inside out as his face fell and his growls cut off completely. The thought of hurting Stiles in any way twisting something inside his chest, caused an ache he didn't wanna look too closely at. It was bad enough he was feeling like shit for scaring the guy, for grabbing him and latching on the way he did. He didn't wanna further add to the self- loathing spiral he seemed to be sliding down.  
  
With wide eyes and cautious movements, he turned his head to check the male he still had pinned to the wall, red leaving his vision and allowing him to get a good look. Pale skin was flushed with crimson, breath moving harsh and rapid in and out a slightly upturned nose, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Dark eyes were rimmed with gold, pupils blown wide, and judging by the too quick heartbeat and the bitter scent of fear, Derek knew he appeared that way out of terror, not arousal.  
  
Double shit.  
  
Derek quickly released his grip on Stiles, shoving himself away and inadvertently pushing the younger male against the wall again. Without saying a word, without looking at anyone else in the room, he turned and ran up the stairs towards the attic, hoping to clear his nose and figure out what the fuck had just happened.


	3. Dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally didn't mean to go this long before updating, I swear. I just got busy with spring cleaning, and then last week, my dog was put to sleep in a spur of the moment decision and it just totally devastated me 'cause he was pretty much my best friend and my shadow. So, sorry about the delay of this being posted. My bad.
> 
> Don't think I need to put any warnings or cover my ass here. Feel free to follow me on Tumblr (kitstiles) and/or Twitter (CharWright5) to see me Stilinski-type flail over supernatural creatures, superheroes, a made for TV boy band, baseball, and whatever else has caught my flighty attention span that week. Oh, and you can also witness my mad ranting and yelling over my writing—which will probably get more hysterical and deranged soon since I'm dumb enough to think I can handle three Big Bangs during one summer despite the multiple anxiety attacks I had over one last year, plus the fics I'm already working on and posting. I also tend to post sneak peeks and snippets of whatever I'm working on at that moment sooo...yeah.
> 
> Lemme know whatcha think of the chapter. Reviews to an author are like the moon to a werewolf: they power us, or some cheesy crap like that, I dunno, I'm tired.
> 
> Enjoy the update guys!

Derek paced the length of the attic, hand tugging his black hair as he struggled to clear his head and make sense of what had just happened. His claws and fangs had retracted, making him feel semi-normal once again, but he still felt shaken to his very core.

And over a fucking _scent_.

He went over every second that had passed between the time he opened the door to when Scott had tried to call him off. He agonized over every detail, from the way Stiles smelled, to the way he'd seemed so into it, to the way his body had gone limp and pliant in Derek's arms, only for it all to have been misinterpreted by the Alpha. 

God, he'd fucked up. Stiles hadn't reacted that way because he'd wanted more; it was just his nature. The guy was an Omega, was genetically designed to submit and do whatever it was the Alpha wanted, regardless of their own desires. And Derek had taken full advantage of that, had given into primal instincts to take the Omega down and have his way with him, no matter what.

And even if Stiles _had_ been the slightest bit turned on, it was probably just due to his own instincts of having a mature Alpha's scent in his nose and body pinning him in place. He couldn't help how his body had reacted anymore than Derek could—which was pretty much not at all. Stiles might've thought that going limp and letting the Alpha do whatever would help him out, would lessen the chance of getting hurt—or worse. Derek was well aware of what happened to Omegas when they disobeyed, had heard countless stories, had seen firsthand a coworker of his dad's who'd shown up covered in bruises, arm in a cast, a shrug to the shoulder as she passed it all off as her being dumb and standing up to her Alpha husband. His dad had growled low in his throat; Derek had felt his own vision reddening out. No one should hurt an Omega, especially not for those reasons.

And chances were Stiles had heard all those similar stories, probably more being the sheriff's kid and all, and had allowed his own Omega nature to take over, his yieldingness a survival mechanism against a mature Alpha that could tear him apart in seconds and not think twice.

The thought made Derek shudder and he fought the wave of nausea threatening to drop him to his knees.

His pacing brought him to his bed, mind automatically remembering the Omega's scent— _Stiles'_ scent that still resided in the mattress. As much as Stiles' reactions were most likely nature, Derek's probably were, too. He spent most of his time around other Alphas and Betas, so smelling an Omega like that had just caught him off guard. He didn't think of Stiles that way, didn't want to mark him or claim him or do any of that other shit he'd previously thought of. It was just his Alpha instincts reacting to an Omega scent, nothing too deep or profound.

The thought felt like a lie, but he let that belief go. Anything more than instinctual reactions was too much and would completely fuck up his resolution to not get attached to anything.

But still...

No. No buts. He refused to allow there to be any buts. It was a simple fact that all that happened was biological instincts, just an Alpha reacting to an Omega's scent. It had nothing to do with Stiles himself. And the teenager succumbing to Derek's behavior was his own natural way of behaving and had nothing to do with his own thoughts or feelings. Hell, the guy hadn't even touched Derek back, had remained near frozen, hands pinned to the wall by his sides. He didn't want the Alpha, any more than the Alpha wanted him.

Derek ground the heel of his hand between his pecs, trying to ease the ache that had appeared there out of nowhere, not sure what exactly it meant or why he was feeling it.

He was terrified to think about it further and find out what had caused it.

Ignoring the sensation, he focused elsewhere, hearing the familiar sounds of Melissa's fluffy slippers flip-flip-flipping on the wood floor of the upstairs hallway. The noise was getting louder, meaning she was getting closer, most likely coming to talk to him, give him some sorta lecture, lay into him for his unacceptable behavior.

Because his evening hadn't been fun enough.

The slippers stopped outside his door, followed by a sigh, then a knock. He halfway contemplated pretending not to be there, but decided that was a dumb idea, something Scott would pull. Everyone had heard him slam the attic door shut so it wasn't as though he could act like he'd gone elsewhere. And he couldn't pretend that he didn't hear her knock, didn't know she was standing there on the other side of the door awaiting his response. Werewolf hearing meant he was fully aware of where she was within the house, and she knew that for a fact.

Basically he wasn't about to get away with shit and should really just get the whole thing over with.

Smearing a hand over his face, he grumbled out a rough “c'min” before turning to face the staircase, arms folded over his broad chest. He listened to the sounds of the knock squeaking as it was twisted, the flip-flip-flip of those slippers on the wooden steps, the creak on the fourth one, the groan on the sixth, until he saw the top of Melissa's curly hair appear in the empty space of the floor.

Her anger was a sharp scent in his nose, joined by a faint hint of embarrassment at her eldest son's behavior. Whatever, wasn't his problem. Served her right for allowing an Omega into a house of Alphas.

Fuck. When'd he become such a bigoted asshole?

She climbed the final stairs, turning to take two steps towards him before stopping. Her body language would've told him how upset she was with him if her scent hadn't already done the job, hip cocked out, arms folded over her own chest, lips twisted in an angry grimace as her jaw tensed up. She exhaled sharply through her nose, narrowed dark eyes leveled on him, looking every bit the pissed off maternal unit, something Derek hadn't seen since he'd gotten wasted the year before and crashed at Kate's overnight.

He'd tried to argue that she should actually be pleased he was smart enough to just stay where he was and not attempt to drive home. She didn't seem to agree with that statement and he spent the next month doing all the work around the house and yard during his grounding period.

He had a feeling not being allowed to hang with his friends wasn't gonna be his punishment this time. Mostly because he was already being punished with that after being forced to move across the country. So really, anything she could say or do here was nowhere near as bad as what she'd already put him through.

Derek met her harsh gaze with one of his own, showing he wasn't intimidated, the Alpha in him refusing to back down before anyone, especially a human. And while part of him reasoned that it was his fucking _mother_ and therefore he should quit with the aggression and just submit, his wolf-half was refusing and his human-half was inclined to just go along with it.

“You wanna explain to me what just happened?” she demanded to know, her voice even, low, tone one that a few months ago would've been more terrifying and threatening than her loud yelling.

Funny how shit changed.

He shrugged a shoulder, features flat, eyes hard. The “no” went unsaid, but he knew it was heard by her, if for no other reason than his lack of communication with anyone in more recent times and her ability to tell what he was thinking through pure maternal instincts. Besides, he really didn't fully understand himself. Trying to explain it to someone else—especially a _human_ someone else—was damn near impossible, even if he wanted to.

Melissa pressed her lips into a hard line, nodding, clearly understanding how things were, how their conversation was gonna go. She sighed audibly before speaking, her tone the same calm one as before. “Look, I don't fully understand werewolf dynamics, so I have no clue what the hell was going through your head when you attacked Stiles like that.”

Derek didn't have a clue either but he didn't admit it out loud, just kept his features schooled in the poker face he'd arranged them in when she'd appeared in his new bedroom.

“But he's a _friend_ , not an enemy,” she continued, lecturing her eldest son on relationships and what exactly they were, like he was five and not eighteen. “There was no need to try and rip his throat out. I'm not sure if it's because of what happened with your dad—”

Derek stiffened at that, shoulders tensing, inhaling harshly and holding the air in his lungs. His face cringed into a wince for a brief second before he wiped the expression away, refusing to let her know her words had affected him.

“Or if it's a werewolf thing,” she kept going, not seeming to notice his reaction. “Or an Alpha thing or what-have-you, just.” She paused, shaking her head as she sighed, seeming to be unable to figure out what exactly she was trying to say, where she'd been going with that thought. “Just behave, be civil, try not to see everyone as a threat.”

His answer was a shrug, a brief nod to the head, figuring agreeing to it would get her to drop it and leave. But, as usual, that wasn't how his life was.

“Good,” Melissa replied with a sharp nod, still keeping up the “I'm the maternal unit here and what I say goes” body language, still not leaving. “Now, most times kids would be punished for rude behavior by being sent to their room with no dinner. But given your lack of desire to be social, I've decided a more suitable punishment would be to force you to come down and eat with us.”

Fuck his life.

Derek's hands clenched into fists where they were squeezed between his torso and his arms, his jaw tensing as he ground his teeth. Being forced to be in Stiles' presence was definitely the worst form of punishment—or was it torture?—that Derek could think of. The Omega's scent was still in his nose, the reminder of his reaction to it buzzing in his brain, an itch he was refusing to scratch. Sitting there as he was made to be social and inhaling that smell with every breath would be too much and he wasn't sure he'd be able to prevent himself from diving across the table and attacking the younger werewolf again.

He wasn't sure he even _wanted_ to prevent it.

Of course he did. He wasn't fucking stupid. His reactions and behavior had hinted at something more, a possessiveness that had overridden every ounce of common sense he'd ever gained over his eighteen years of existence. Possession led to claiming, which led to attachment, which led to that person being ripped away from you without your permission, the whole thing beyond your control. Which led to an aching inside that couldn't be healed, a hole that couldn't be filled, a life that wasn't worth living as the presence of death constantly hung around.

He'd lost his dad. He'd never really had his dad's side of the family. He'd lost his maternal grandfather. He'll eventually lose his mom, his brother, his abuela. He'd lost his friends, his girlfriend, his home, his previous life. No way could he handle losing anyone—or any _thing_ —else in any fashion. And the only way he could prevent losing something was to never have it in the first place.

And that included Stiles.

“I don't care if you don't like it,” Melissa stated, cutting into his mental tangent and catching his attention. His eyes opened, Derek having no clue when exactly they'd closed, the green orbs taking in her stern expression, the tilt of her eyebrow that dared him to defy her, to argue with her. “That's the whole point. And while you're down there, you can apologize to Stiles. You're just lucky you didn't scare him off with your aggressive Alpha bullshit.”

Her words made a light bulb flick on inside his head, an idea forming. Any sort of attachment wouldn't form if Stiles wasn't around, and in order to make Stiles not wanna be around him, he just needed to be a huge dick and freak the kid out enough so that he'd never feel the urge to be in Derek's presence. And without the Omega's scent in his nose, Derek could get his shit together, focus on school and college and getting the fuck outta Beacon Hills.

Really, it was flawless plan, an easy one since he was pretty much a dick to everyone else. Plus his family already thought he had something against Stiles, that he didn't like the kid and wanted him gone. Being rude and aggressive towards him wouldn't seem unusual, wouldn't raise suspicions, wouldn't cause anyone to question his behavior or his motives. It was perfect.

Strategy firmly in the forefront of his mind, Derek rolled his eyes, not finding it all that hard to do. It was his go-to move over the past month and a half, that and cocking an eyebrow in question and disbelief, usually in response to someone actually trying to start a conversation with him.

Ignoring the part of him that was glad Stiles hadn't run off was a little more challenging but he managed nonetheless, focusing more on his desire to _actually_ have the kid leave and never wanna come back.

Or at least not wanna come back when Derek was home.

Melissa narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down, assessing his contentious body language and his obvious refusal to turn his attitude around. Her scent turned salty, a mix of disappointment and longing, a confusion caused by his behavior, most likely her wondering what exactly had happened to her son and what she could do to get him back.

He wanted to tell her it was impossible, that the Derek she knew died in that wreck along with his father, but held back. He was avoiding words at all cost, including ones that could possibly get his mom off his back for good.

Her scent shifted once more, although the desire for things to go back to how they had been stayed with it, now a faint note as she seemed to just accept how their lives were going to be from then on out. With a nod of the head aimed at the stairs, she gave him a low “come on”, the command still evident even in the quiet volume of the words. Without uncrossing her arms, she turned and headed to the steps, going down them and assuming he'd follow.

Derek remained where he was, his arms falling to his sides, his jaw grinding. He had zero fucking desire to do as he was told, to follow her and subject himself to his family and their guest, their guest whom he'd attacked and wanted to possess in every form of the word. But trying to get out of it would only result in Melissa being in his shit even more, constantly on his back as she attempted to get the old Derek back, as she endeavored to snap him out of whatever he was going through at that moment.

It wasn't a phase, that he was sure. And one day, she would realize that and back the fuck off.

But until then, he had no choice but to do as he was told and hope she'd see for herself that he wasn't going back to how he had been, that the new Derek was there to stay and she needed to just accept it and move on.

And doing as he was told meant going down and joining everyone for dinner.

Fucking joy.

He breathed in deep, holding the air in his lungs before slowly exhaling through his nose. His eyes flipped to his mattress, remembering the scent that lay beneath the layers of cotton and form, the scent that had come from the Omega currently sitting at Maria's kitchen table. His plan came back to him, strategies forming in his head, and he found his feet moving towards the stairs, having found his motivation to actually join everyone else, despite his desire to hide out in the attic.

No, not hiding. Pussies hid. He was...preserving his sanity and protecting himself from any future pain.

Weak excuse, but he'd take it.

His boot-clad feet were heavy on the wooden floors, each step a dull thump as he headed to the kitchen with weighted steps, making it known that he wasn't happy about how the next hour or so of his life was about to go. Not that the scowl on his face or the angry spice to his scent didn't already give that away, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to add to it, especially given how oblivious Scott could be at times.

Conversation reached Derek's ears as he arrived at the stairs that led to the first floor, Melissa voicing an apology as she pulled her chair out from the table, an explanation that she had no idea what had gotten into her son.

“It's fine,” a semi-familiar voice—Stiles, he assumed—replied, his tone easy-going and making it seem as though it really _was_ fine, when the blip in his heartbeat gave away that he was lying, that it wasn't fine or any variation of the word. “After my mom died, I got a li'l bitey and snarly, too.” He wrapped the confession up with a childlike growl and Derek had to stop at the bottom of the stairs to roll his eyes.

And also possibly put his shit back together, considering he was now face to face with the front door and the wall he'd pinned the Omega against.

Shit.

Okay, he was obviously gonna have to deal with that sight often, considering it was at the bottom of the stairs, plus he'd be seeing it every time he left the house—assuming he used the front door and not the rear one located in the kitchen. Really, it would be better to handle his first time looking at it while the place was mostly empty and no one could witness any reaction he'd have. Safer that way.

Or he was being a pussy again.

No, it was a safety thing. Definitely safety.

And, in the interest of safety, he completely ignored the door and the wall and the urge to walk over and see if any scents lingered on either, instead turning and scuffing his way into the kitchen.

Conversation died off when he entered, the air thick with tension and the various scents of those seated at the table, their emotional odors making it hard to breathe. There was the anxiety they were all feeling, the worry that Derek would do something again, the fear that this time he'd actually hurt Stiles. There was anger at his reaction, hurt, confusion, a sense of curiosity as to why he'd treated the Omega that way in the first place. There was a feeling of disapproval and genuine dislike about what he'd done and how he'd behaved, but he refused to look into it too much. Instead, he rounded the table, walking behind Maria in order to get to the open seat between Melissa and Scott at the circular piece of furniture.

Putting Stiles almost directly in his line of sight.

Goddammit.

The smart thing to do would be to keep his eyes on his plate, to look anywhere but at the Omega. But, apparently, Derek's brain wasn't quite caught up to the program, meaning it did the absolute worst thing possible. It ordered his eyes to look at Stiles.

Stiles' face had what could only be described as “boyish good looks”. Since he hadn't hit maturity as a werewolf yet, it still had a small amount of baby fat on his cheeks, a slight roundness to it. It would all melt away a short time after he turned eighteen, revealing the bone-structure hidden beneath, much like what happened to Derek and every other werewolf out there who came of age, but until then, there was no mistaking that he was still young.

His nose was slightly upturned at the end, a little too wide in the nostrils. His lips were the stereotypical “cupid's bow” one always heard about, the bottom one slightly too full to match the top. His eyes were a warm honey hue, framed by lashes that were too curly for a male to have. His brown hair was styled in messy tufts that stuck up in various directions, although it was hard to tell if it was done that way on purpose or if he'd just woken up that way. His pale skin had a smattering of random moles in various sizes, all scattered over his cheeks, forehead, and neck.

Loose flannel covered his frame so it was hard to tell exactly what kind of shape he was in, but the set of his shoulders and the forearms that were visible thanks to rolled up sleeves gave the impression of a more lean build. The same pale skin/moles combination covered his arms, and his hands were thin, fingers long but strong, good size for someone his age and gender.

Derek found himself looking the teenager over, eyes narrow and analytical, trying to take in as much detail in as short a time as possible, lest he be caught. He managed one glance over before he came across the Omega's hands, fingers drumming the table in a fit of nervous energy, thumbs rubbing the edge of the plate before him.

The plate with the chip in it.

His _dad's_ plate.

The low rumble of a growl made its way out of his throat before he realized it'd been formed, before he knew he'd react that way. He felt his lip curl slightly, the hint of fang peeking out underneath, his wolf raising its hackles. _No one_ was to use that plate. It didn't matter that his father wasn't around to eat off it anymore. It was still his and it was to stay that way for the rest of that plate's existence. For someone else to use it was to insult his dad's memory, to act like he hadn't mattered or that his habits had been forgotten already.

Besides, the wolf in him recognized that plate as his dad's property, therefore his territory, and this teenager was encroaching in on someone else's space, the ultimate offense in wolf culture.

Basically, the Omega was a little shit and needed to learn his place, especially at a table of Alphas, and especially when said property once belonged to an Alpha.

Brown eyes went wide across from him, the sharp spice of fear joining the other scents in the room. Aggravation soon joined in, aggression, a fierce need to protect the person who was being threatened. Whatever. Derek didn't give a fuck how anyone else felt about the situation. All that mattered was that the Omega figured out his own fuck up and make things right.

By leaving, for starters.

“Derek.” Melissa's voice was the same calm, even tone she'd used on him before, the threat implied within the two syllables.

The growls immediately cut off, his wolf recognizing her as the authority figure she was, his surrogate Alpha in the absence of his father, despite the fact that she was human. He watched the red leave his vision, the true tones and hues of things returning, his fangs retracting inside his mouth. Removing his claws from the wooden table—which he wasn't aware had even happened—took a bit more work and care, but he managed it nonetheless, pressing his palms flat on the table afterward. His body still remained tense, muscles bunched up, trembling under the pressure of holding himself in place. Fuck only knew what would happen if he were to relax and let his body do what it wanted.

An exacerbated sigh came from his left but he ignored it, choosing instead to give Stiles one last glare before flicking his eyes down to the chip in the plate, then the dish in front of himself.

“Well,” Maria began, clapping her hands together in an attempt to get everyone's attention. “That's one way to start dinner.”

Derek rolled his eyes, pretending that he had no idea Scott was glaring at him, had been glaring since he'd sat down. Not his problem if the younger werewolf had some sorta issue with the elder.

“Yeah. Most families say 'grace', but hey, to each their own,” Stiles jokingly added in an attempt to lighten the mood. His voice was smooth as it floated over to Derek, ghosting over his skin and hitting something deep inside that he pretended he didn't notice.

The Alpha curled his fingers into fists on the table, jaw clenching to bite back any growls or snarls or whatever noise was building up inside his throat that was desperate to escape. His plan to go along with Melissa's wishes so she'd get off his back was still in effect, the knowledge of which was the only thing keeping him silent.

But his actions didn't go unnoticed, four sets of dark eyes flicking to his fists, the tense discomfort of before ratcheting up a notch as everyone waited for the eldest male to make a move.

He slid his hands under the table, out of everyone's view, hoping like hell they'd all quit staring at him like a feral animal at a zoo.

Mostly because he wasn't too sure that wasn't what he was. At least at that moment.

Maria asked Scott and Stiles how they met, effectively changing the subject. And as the Omega excitedly recounted the tale—complete with over-the-top hand gestures and the occasional add-in by Scott—so began the most awkward dinner Derek had ever had.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek was on dish duty for a month. He didn't mind all that much, considering it was a solo activity and that Scott and Stiles had disappeared to the Stilinski residence in order to play video games. Melissa had stated that it was fine, that Scott was just next door and she trusted him to be safe at a near stranger's house, but Derek knew it was just an excuse to politely get Stiles out her own home in order to get her elder son back on his decent behavior.

The clean-up job was done on autopilot, his hands moving on their own to clear off the table, put everything away, wash and rinse dishes. The entire thing had gone smoothly, efficiently, without a single hiccup. The rhythmic motion of his hands on the dishes allowed his head to clear from everything that happened that evening. The running of the water allowed him to block out the low din of conversation taking place between Melissa and Maria in the living room, the TV show they were pretending to watch. The menial task proved to be just the sort of thing he needed in order to calm frayed nerves and sooth ruffled fur.

Until he got to the plate with the chip on it.

His eyes narrowed, red leaking into his vision as he glared at the plate he held between both hands. Earlier thoughts of how no one should be able to use it came back, more intense than ever now, considering who had used it moments before. And it would be so easy to guarantee it would never be used again, to just exert a little pressure and—

The plate cracked into several uneven pieces in his hands, most of it dropping down into the sink full of dirty, bubbly water. A small smirk played on his lips, dimple half-forming in his cheek, a small sense of satisfaction washing over him.

He heard Melissa and Maria run through, smelled their panic and confusion, as he fished the pieces out the sink with his bare hands and disposed of them in the garbage can in the cabinet beneath the sink.

“What the hell was that?” the younger female demanded to know, worry bleeding into his words, and he could practically envision her wide dark eyes and harried expression.

Derek calmly closed the cabinet door before pulling the plug, allowing the water to drain from the sink. Drying his hands, he turned to face the two females, dishes now done and drying in the rack. “That was Dad's plate,” he stated matter-of-factly, tone even, low, relaxed, as though he hadn't just smashed a plate between his hands.

He tossed the towel onto the counter, ignoring the wide eyes of both women, refusing to acknowledge any sighs or changes in scents. Task done, he exited the kitchen, passing between the two of them with unhurried steps, heading to his new room in the attic to begin a night of being left the fuck alone.

He deserved it after all the shit he'd been put through that evening.


	4. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally ignoring what happened in last night's "Teen Wolf", if for no other reason than thinking about it makes me start crying again. I literally just bawled for half an hour straight after it happened. I know it was a fictional character who died, but after spending three/four years with these guys, they're almost like friends and it feels like a friend has been taken away from all of us, not to mention the sympathy and hurt I feel for every other character on the show and how that loss will affect them.
> 
> Moving on...not really much to say about this chapter I don't think...Oh, GayWolfy suggested that I add "grief" to my warnings, which I did, since it might be triggering in a way to some. If anyone thinks that anything else should be added, feel free to let me know.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter and let me know whatcha think of it. I'm gonna go curl up with my stuffed wolf and cry some more. Between "Teen Wolf" and now the near end of "Being Human", Mondays are just full of supernatural related pain. Not sure I can handle much more of it....

Derek's body had become accustomed to waking up at 5:30. It was a habit really, one instilled by his dad when he was about ten. Wake up early, go for a long run around the neighborhood and work off excess energy to leave him calm and level for the rest of the day. He hadn't really understood it until he'd skipped a run when he was eleven, taking advantage of his dad being out of town and not waking up him up before the sun. He'd spent the entire school day keyed up, anxious, his wolf pacing around and restless. He'd never felt so trapped in his life as he did during those seven hours, even feeling unsatisfied after running around during recess and a rigorous game of dodgeball during gym. It wasn't until he got home and dragged Scott out to run with him that he felt at peace, finally collapsing on the couch as the younger McHale did the same on the loveseat, both snoozing until dinner.

Since then, he'd set his alarm and had gone out every day at 5:30 for a run around the neighborhood with his dad. Scott joined them when Derek turned twelve, never seeming as into it as the other two McHale men. He'd put up with it during lacrosse season, understanding the need to stay in shape and keep his stamina levels up for playing, but would make it known how not stoked he was on the early exercise with countless grumbles and the bitter scent of aggravation during the rest of the year.

Derek loved it. He loved the freedom, the mindlessness of it, the way it was as close to being a wolf as possible while still remaining human. It made him pity his four-legged cousins trapped in zoos and nature preserves, knowing there was no way they could fully feel the same sense of knowing that if he wanted, he could just keep running forever and there'd be nothing to stop him.

He kept the habit up after his dad died, but didn't ask Scott to join in. He was sure the younger Alpha appreciated the extra hour or so of sleep, even if he didn't say it, and Derek appreciated the solitude, the ability to be alone with his thoughts or to just not think at all, as he was apt to do. On his runs, he was by himself, the way he wanted to be, allowing him to pretend that everything was okay and that his family hadn't been ripped apart and that things at his house were the way they had been.

Allowing him to be in denial.

After seven years of the early wake-ups and the long runs, his body had gotten used to it, his internal clock set to rouse him at 5:30 on the dot. Which was a really awesome thing on the off-chance a power outage happened in the night and screwed up his actual alarm, or the even rarer instance when he forgot to flip the thing on in the first place.

It wasn't so great when he moved to California and was now three hours behind in time. Meaning his body was wide awake and alert at 2:30 AM.

And there was no way he was getting back to sleep.

He tossed and turned on the mattress, flopping onto his back, his side, his back again, his other side. The sheet had gotten tangled in his legs, the fitted one wrinkled and pulled up at a corner. His pillows had flattened out under his head, pillowcases bunched beneath his cheek, the sensation irritating but bearable.

The scent still lingering in the mattress, however, wasn't.

Derek flopped onto his back, starfishing across the mattress, eyes staring at the exposed beam running parallel to his body as it bisected the ceiling. He was beyond awake, unable to keep his eyes shut and his brain silent long enough to drift back to sleep, despite the exhaustion that burned behind his orbs. He'd run on less sleep before, had pulled all-nighters cramming for his SATs and ACTs, partying with teammates, fucking Kate into her mattress when her parents were out of town visiting family she couldn't stand. But after everything he'd gone through that day, from the move to the Omega that he was pretending didn't exist, he was more tired than he could remember and wanted nothing more than to just fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He absently wondered if Maria had any alcohol in her house.

He then figured it wouldn't matter, since chances were she didn't have any wolfsbane to lace it with and therefore rendered him unable to get drunk and pass out, defeating the purpose.

Shit.

Kicking the sheet back, Derek sat up, smearing a hand roughly over his face. The attic felt stuffy, the air thick with the mingled scents of old things and clean sheets, of musky objects and new mattress. He felt like he was choking, weighed down by the combination of... _everything_ , his chest tight. An overwhelming need to get out had his skin tingling and his mind buzzing, a low hum at the back of his head that he couldn't ignore, and all he could think about was how easy it would be to just grab clothes and _go_.

He gave in to the urge, shooting up to his feet and striding over to the bureau he'd been given. It didn't take long for him to pull on a pair of mesh basketball shorts and sleeveless Queens Alpha-Beta Lycanthrope Academy tee, his socks and sneakers more work but barely slowing him down.

It was just after three when he left the attic and crept out the house, his wolf-half subconsciously listening for three steady heartbeats, the human-half ignoring the creak of Scott's mattress as he partially woke up due to Derek's movements.

Derek didn't stop until he was outside, the door closed behind him and feet on the sidewalk leading to the driveway. The air outside was lighter, more breathable, a barely there humidity that made the night pleasant. He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs and feeling the tightness in his chest loosen a smidgen. He smelled the warmth of a late summer night, the crisp scent of the lawn that had been mowed earlier, the earthy notes of dirt dampened by an overused sprinkler system.

The Omega that he'd been taunted with earlier in the evening.

Exhaling sharply, Derek scented the air, catching the smell of Stiles, the trail he'd left behind going to and from his home next door. His head turned, eyes focusing on the brick house to the left, windows dark and bodies still. Two heartbeats pumped steadily, a faint snore coming from an upstairs room, a creak sounding out as the house settled. Two cars sat in the driveway, an old light blue Jeep and a black SUV with ' _SHERIFF_ ' emblazoned along the side. He wondered briefly about a second parental figure, only to remember that none had been mentioned. Maria had spoken of “the sheriff and his son”. Scott had commented about how Stiles was good to talk to since he'd lost his mom. Derek hadn't cared when either had said those things and found himself trying to figure out if they had mentioned what exactly had happened to the female.

Only to cut that thought off with a mental slap. The less he knew about Stiles and his life, the better. It was hard enough trying to resist the allure of the Omega's scent; he didn't need the added complication of actually knowing the guy and finding commonalities or differences, things like that.

Something scratched at Derek's bare shins and he looked down to find himself caught in a foot-tall shrub that separated the two properties. He'd begun walking over to the house next door without even realizing it, his nose clinging onto the scent and guiding his movements.

Terrific.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers into his lids, careful not to cut himself with claws that had extended on their own. Again. Unbelievable. He'd had a tight hold on his wolf-half, was able to remain in control and rein in the animal when it tried to take over. Sure, there'd been slip-ups when he'd first turned eighteen, but that was natural, and it hadn't taken him long to learn how to keep a firm grip on his humanity. Now he'd wolfed out three times in one day, all without his realization.

Really though, it made sense. His entire world had been flipped on its head—twice—within a couple months and he was feeling completely out of control about everything. And being forced to move across the country left him ungrounded, his anchor unable to do its job, the waters of his life too rough to allow it to gain a hold of anything. He was lost in a stormy sea and it was only natural for him to allow his animal half to take over and just give in to only dealing with baser instincts and problems, rather than all the human bullshit he was currently suffering through.

Opening his eyes, Derek carefully stepped out of the shrub, watching pink and white scratches on his shins heal themselves up between one heartbeat and the next. He briefly considered wolfing out for his run, only to shove that thought aside. Other than the last two full moons, he hadn't been a full wolf since his dad's death, except the day Melissa had announced their move. And as satisfying as it would've been to give in to the mindlessness of running as an animal, he refused to allow himself that pleasure, instead turning and heading down to the road, running in the direction opposite the house belonging to the sheriff and his Omega son.

And the Omega's scent.

Despite not being familiar with the neighborhood, Derek had a feeling it wouldn't be big enough for him to run out everything he was feeling.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later and Derek felt like he had the neighborhood memorized.

Which was good, because he was fairly certain he was gonna fall down.

His legs burned, muscles aching with fatigue as he walked the final lap, cooling himself down. His skin was shining with sweat, shirt and shorts both soaked, and his throat felt raw with thirst and panting. But it was exactly what he'd wanted, needed, the exhaustion that came only from physical exertion, from pushing the limits of what his preternatural body was capable of. And as his feet slapped against the tarred road, he thought about the shower he was about to have, followed by collapsing onto his bed and hopefully getting an hour or two of shut eye.

He'd spent the past couple hours running countless mile-long laps around the neighborhood, an absent thought flashing through his head about how glad he was that it was too early for anyone to notice the unshaven man running past their house multiple times. But it was nice to have the mindless monotony of running, of being able to zone out and focus on solely what he wanted to focus on. He listened to the sounds of his feet pounding against the road, his harsh breathing sawing in and out through his mouth, the swish of his mesh shorts rubbing together as his legs moved. He heard the familiar nocturnal activity of a suburban neighborhood: a raccoon digging through a trashcan, an owl hooting in a tree, rodents scurrying for safety, crickets chirping in the grass.

He'd been so focused on his hearing that it took him three laps to realize that he'd fallen into the habit of slowing down in front of the sheriff's house—of _Stiles'_ house—scenting the air in the hopes of catching a whiff of the Omega. He shook his head to clear it, eyes trained on the pavement below his feet, forcing himself to snap out of it, to quit acting like a hormonal idiot. He was an Alpha. He was better than that.

On the fourth lap, he sped up before reaching the Stilinski residence.

He kept up the habit throughout the remainder of his run.

Until his final cool down circuit when he'd taken to walking.

The house in question was coming up on his right, his eyes immediately drawn to it. The windows were just as dark as before, the blinds just as still, nothing happening within the building itself. Yet Derek still found himself unable to tear his gaze away, unable to do anything but stare at it as he meandered closer, hands on his hips.

He cursed silently to himself, huffing out a laugh of disbelief through a burning throat as he panted through parted lips. Unbelievable. He'd spent the past two hours trying to forget everything that seemed to be going wrong for him in his life, only for it all to come racing back at the sight of brick and mortar.

He felt like punching a hole in the side of the house.

Not that it was the house's fault really, just the teenager sleeping within. Not that _everything_ was Stiles' fault, but it was easy to place the blame on him. For making Derek's nose trail scents he didn't want it to. For making his vision redden and his mind cloud. For making him lose control of his wolf, the one thing he still felt like he had a hold of after everything else had been ripped from him.

Asshole.

Derek's brows fell into a scowl, his feet slowing to a stop by the path that led to the Stilinskis' front porch. He found his body turning to face it, eyes flicking from spot to spot, window to window, searching for something his mind wasn't aware of.

Until it was.

Shit, he was looking for Stiles.

Smearing a hand over his face, Derek fought with his instincts to stalk up to the porch, barge his way in, and head straight for the Omega, instead forcing himself to turn away. Jaw set and eyes narrowed, he jogged his way to Maria's house, not stopping until he was inside and the front door was locked. As quickly and as silently as he could, he stalked straight to the kitchen, chugging down a bottle of water before making his way to the bathroom. He turned the water as hot as possible, showering everything away: the sweat, the anger he felt at himself and at Stiles, the hormones that made him want nothing more than to strip the Omega bare and fuck him until they were both raw and sore, only to do it all over again after their werewolf healing fixed them right up.

The fuck was his life anymore?

Derek scrubbed until his skin felt as raw as his lungs and throat had, until he was a bright red all over and he finally felt something other than a driving urge to force his way into the house next door. Flipping the water off, he stumbled out the shower, catching himself on the counter, his legs finally starting to give out on him. He dried off with quick, rough motions, wrapping the towel around his waist and mentally cursing himself for not grabbing clean clothes. A quick listen told him the other three occupants of the house were all still sound asleep, allowing him to avoid any awkward run-ins out in the hall.

Sweaty clothes gathered up, he padded his way out the bathroom, down the hall, and up the attic stairs to his room. Soon, he found himself in a clean pair of boxer-briefs and flopped down onto his stomach on the bed, head between the pillows and face buried in the mattress.

He tried not to search out the Omega's scent and failed, the sweet notes teasing his nose and tempting his wolf.

Derek fell asleep soon after, dreaming of that scent, accompanied by plush lips and mole covered pale skin.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek woke up still on his stomach, pillows shoved onto the floor, face smooshed into the mattress with his head against the wall, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle.

And that scent in his nose.

He shot up to a kneeling position in a literal heartbeat, eyes wide, air rushing through his nose and into his lungs. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at the spot on the mattress he'd previously been smashed into, telling himself he wasn't glaring at an inanimate object or getting pissed at a smell, just that he was squinting against the sun streaming in through the window above his bed.

He was only marginally successful.

Smearing a hand over his face, he forced his brain to get with it, rising up fully on his knees before climbing off the bed. He turned his back on his mattress as though that would do anything, as though it would block the scent from doing anything to him. Fucking pathetic really. It wasn't like a smell had all that much control over him, like it could actually force him into doing something he didn't want to.

He had a brief flash of memory from the night before, of grabbing and pinning Stiles against the wall, of scenting him and grinding against him, of growling both in pleasure then in possession.

Okay, maybe it could, but that was a one time thing and was never gonna happen again.

He was gonna make sure of it.

Barefoot, Derek padded over to his bureau, pulling a random gray tee out one drawer before throwing it over his head. He completed the look with the jeans he wore the day before, figuring they weren't too stained, deciding they didn't smell too bad. Finger-combing his hair, he made the black locks spike up the way he preferred before shuffling his way to the stairs.

He'd picked up the sounds of movement in other rooms below him, of pans being scraped over the stove top, of bacon sizzling and spoons stirring, of friendly chatter and amused laughter. Clearly, the other residents of the house were up and about and making breakfast and as loathe as he was to interact and most likely be forced to discuss his behavior the night before, he was hungry and eating sounded like a good idea.

Moving soundlessly, he made his way down the attic stairs, opening the door and stepping out into the hall. The smells of breakfast hit him, along with the scents of those who resided in the house with him. He could hear the din of conversation as he walked down the hall, hear Scott rambling about some video game and was it cool if he went to Stiles' place to finish up their game. Derek pretended that his heart didn't skip a beat at the mention of the Omega's name, that his chest didn't get tight and his wolf didn't raise its hackles in a possessive move. It was a lot easier to do when he didn't have the younger male's scent in his nose distracting him to no end.

He took the stairs at a near jog, ignoring the door and the wall next to it, focusing instead on the beige carpet, the fluffy feel of it beneath his bare feet. He remembered making carpet angels with Scott in the living room, the way the rug would get dark if rubbed a certain way. Derek's angel always turned out bigger, a fact that made the younger McHale pout, until the elder ruffed his hair and he got agitated at that instead.

Everything really was much simpler back then. Their dad was still around, calling the two of them to order, telling Derek to quit picking on his little brother and Derek whining that Scott was just being a cry-wolf. In those days, neither of them would realize just how dramatically their lives would change, that one day their dad wouldn't be around to chastise them, to teach them, to remind Derek that Scott was younger and he needed to protect him, not mess with him. Their dad would be pissed if he knew how shit had turned out, if he knew that Derek and Scott barely spoke anymore and when they did, it was in snippy tones and with angry words. Gone were the days of hero worship and playful banter. Their relationship was no longer one of a carefree kind of annoyance that came from having a younger brother constantly plastered at your side, copying your every move because he thought you were just that cool. It was now one of a genuine annoyance and a belief that if something were to happen to the other, they'd be okay with it because the asshole deserved it.

Yeah, their dad wouldn't stand for that shit at all and would verbally ream them with growls and snarls until he was satisfied they'd gotten over their bullshit.

Then again, if their dad was still around, their relationship wouldn't be that way. Derek would still be his old self, the older brother who enjoyed hanging with the younger one, teaching him, playfully picking on him, the two thick as thieves as they had been.

But that clearly wasn't meant to be. Shit happened for a reason, that was his dad's belief. Derek just hadn't figured out the reason for his father's untimely death yet.

He entered the kitchen to hear Melissa reminding Scott that the moving truck would be there sometime around noon and that he needed to help, earning her an enthusiastic grin and nod in response. Clearly the younger Alpha had gotten his way.

Again.

Derek shuffled over to the coffee maker, grabbing a random mug out the cabinet above and filling it with the caffeinated drink. He was gonna need the ass-kicking it could provide—and a lot of it. Really, he should just set up some sorta IV and mainline the shit straight into his system. Despite the couple extra hours of sleep he'd gotten after his run, he still felt exhausted. Mentally exhausted anyway. His body was back to being ready to run another ten miles or so, but his mind was just not willing to deal with anything, demanding he get back in bed and snooze.

Not that he'd be able to really. His body was well-aware that it was past nine, that it was time to be awake, and wasn't about to let anything shut down for any reason.

Fucking fun.

“You're up late,” Melissa commented from her position by the stove, a plate in hand as she scooped bacon onto it.

Derek stirred sugar into his coffee, shrugging as he took a sip to taste test it, satisfied. He knew he was pretty much always the first one up—at least since his dad had died—and that for him to be the last one to arrive in the kitchen was a strange occurrence. He just didn't feel like explaining his restless night or his _way_ early morning run.

“He was up at three,” Scott commented, a slight bitter edge to his words.

The elder Alpha turned and glared, an eyebrow cocked in a silent demand to know where the fuck he got off sharing information about a life that wasn't his own.

The look was ignored as the younger kept talking, setting cutlery at each setting on the table. Only four this time. Thank fuck. “Left the house and didn't get back 'til nearly five.”

Derek both heard and felt two sets of inquisitive female eyes locking onto him, Melissa the one to comment with a low “oh?” He held the glare at Scott before turning to her, seeing firsthand the questioning tilt of her eyebrows, the curious twist of her lips.

“And what exactly were you up to at three in the morning, Derek?”

He resented the question, the way she was treating him like a little kid who needed a curfew and permission to leave and to check in every five minutes. He was legally an adult, not to mention a fully matured werewolf. If he wanted to fucking leave at three in the morning, he could and would.

But the weight of Melissa's stare—along with that of Maria's and now Scott's—had him buckling under and he knew there was no way he'd be able to get away with a shrug and a head shake. She'd badger and prod and create theories of her own until he finally snapped and barked out an answer, raising her anger level to an unnecessary point. Unfortunately for him, it was best to just skip all that shit and cut right to the part where he answer.

“Running,” he stated flatly, stepping over to his chair and lowering himself onto it, taking another drink of his coffee before putting it on the table.

“At three in the morning?” she questioned dubiously, placing the plate of bacon in the middle of the table.

This time he did shrug, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “Couldn't sleep.”

“You run by Stiles' house?” Scott asked, sitting across from him, eyes narrowed. His body language was tense, muscle in his uneven jaw ticking, clearly ready to attack his elder brother should he dare say something bad about his best friend.

Derek rolled his eyes, both at the younger male's ridiculous attitude and the stupidity of his question. “He lives right next door,” he reminded him, voice gruff with annoyance. “Trust me, if I could've avoided it, I would've.”

Scott snorted, rolling his own dark eyes and shaking his head in disbelief, turning away from the elder Alpha. Derek refused to acknowledge his reaction, the way his scent shifted to something bitter, the annoyance clear in smell and facial expression. Instead, he lifted his mug, inhaling a huge waft of coffee, knowing the beans could help clear other scents from his nose. That, plus it just smelled fucking good.

Maria made her way to the table, shaky hands placing a large bowl of scrambled eggs next to the plate of bacon. A plate of toast soon joined it and the two females seated themselves, the elder giving the order to dig in. Derek helped himself, purposely avoiding any curious and/or annoyed gazes that went his way, focusing solely on the task of eating.

It was a whole lot easier than thinking about his earlier run, why it'd been necessary, and the aggravating moments that had taken place during it. And it sure as hell beat dealing with Scott's own irritation at the elder Alpha and his attitude towards the Omega next door.

The Omega who'd left his scent on one of the chairs at the very table Derek was seated at.

Seemed like avoiding all things Stiles was gonna be harder than he'd originally thought it'd be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Scott left as soon as he finished breakfast. Maria and Melissa lingered at the table, enjoying a second cup of coffee each and chatting, as Derek washed the dishes before disappearing to his room. He contemplated going on another run, if for no other reason than it was something to do, but didn't wanna deal with the questions it would raise. So instead, he flopped onto his back on the bed, rereading the book he'd tried to enjoy on the airplane.

The moving truck showed up a little after noon, just like Melissa had said it would. Derek slipped on his boots and made it outside as the back door of the vehicle was lifted up.

And the front door of the house to the left opened.

Derek tried to ignore the way his inner-wolf raised its head in interest, the way it began pacing about, whining. He tried to ignore the way his own body tensed up, the tingle he felt all over, the tightening in his chest. He tried to ignore the scent that wafted his way, the intoxicating combination of sugar, orange, and pine, along with that same laundry-detergent-flannel-denim-hair-gel overlay. He tried to ignore the way the scent was getting closer, the excited rush of words as the owner of the smell spoke, the sounds of sneakers crushing a perfectly manicured lawn as two males walked over.

He tried to ignore the fact that Stiles was moments from being within arms reach once more and that it would be more than easy to just grab the guy and run off with him.

Shit.

He clenched his teeth together, breathing through his mouth to reduce the risk of him inhaling any more of that scent and doing something stupid. Like having anything to do with Stiles.

Muscles tense, he stomped over to the back of the truck, grabbing two stacked boxes and turning to take them inside. Only to come face-to-face with Stiles. Because that's how his life was these days, a constant punishment, pushing him beyond his limits and testing his hold on...pretty much everything really. And now was another one of those punishing tests and he was seconds away from failing. Again.

Stiles came to a stop in front of him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, easy-going smile on his face. His body language was loose, relaxed, and if he harbored any ill feelings or anger about the first time they'd been face to face, he didn't show it. His scent might've told a different story—the _true_ story—but Derek wasn't chancing finding that out.

Hell, just standing around was chancing things.

His grip tightened on the box he was carrying, holding his breath in his lungs, his entire body tensed up. It was just like at dinner the night before, when he was too afraid of relaxing in case his wolf decided to take shit over and make a move for him, a move he didn't wanna make in the first place. He bit back a growl—albeit he had no idea _why_ he felt like growling, but figured the fact that he wanted to make the noise in the first place wasn't a good thing—barely able to keep his sight from reddening out.

But the Omega before him didn't seem put off by any of this, didn't seem afraid or nervous or worried. He kept up the same casual demeanor, the same easy going nature, simply taking his hand out his pocket and waving.

“'Sup, Big Guy?”

Yeah, that shit needed to not happen.

Stiles' voice ghosted over Derek's skin, hitting right in the core of him, and without a second's hesitation, the Alpha turned and stormed his way up the lawn and into the house, not stopping until he was in the kitchen.

He dropped the boxes on the table, vaguely aware of objects inside rattling, not sparing a second's thought to whether anything was breakable or if he'd even put them in the right room. All he could think about was getting control, gathering himself enough so that he could deal with everything that was happening, could deal with Stiles' scent and voice and _existence_ and not feel like he was gonna wolf out and do something he'd regret later on.

Exhaling harshly, Derek shoved the heels of his hands in his eyes, breathing heavy as he willed himself to calm down. He counted down from ten, then twenty, then fifty, still feeling his body tremble, still feeling completely on edge. Voices drifted inside the house, Scott and Stiles, the two heading upstairs judging by the sounds of their footsteps. Derek dropped his hands from his face, gripping the back of the chair and digging his claws in, holding himself there.

Really, the entire fucking thing was stupid. He was a fucking Alpha, one that was, once again, letting some stupid fucking smell affect him. He could handle this, was better than this. He just had to hold his breath around the Omega, make sure he carried his own boxes and didn't let any unwanted scents transfer onto his things. Easy.

Taking another deep calming breath, Derek mentally pulled his shit together and released his grip on the chair, absently aware that he'd clawed the wood and would most likely get chewed out for it later. Whatever. He'd deal with that problem if and when it happened. He already had enough on his metaphorical plate at the moment.

His eyes shot to the cabinet where he knew the actual plates were held, a small satisfaction tingling the back of his head at the memory of him smashing his dad's plate. A little messed up, but if it meant one last thing in the house didn't have the Omega's scent on it, then it was fine.

Tilting his head down, he soon realized he'd scratched the chair Stiles had used the night before.

Of fucking course.

Shoving himself away, Derek turned and left the kitchen, his muscles still tense and his steps still heavy as he made his way out the house and to the truck. He just needed to get his own shit, get it in his room, and avoid Scott and Stiles at all costs.

Judging by the dark glare the younger Alpha leveled at the elder as he stepped onto the front porch, the last part wasn't gonna be a problem at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It only took about twenty minutes for them to unload the truck. Derek handled his own boxes, as well as some of the heavier ones. The other two males took care of Scott's things and helped Melissa with her's. Maria's arthritis prevented her from doing much of anything beyond directing the movers where to put boxes and making lunch for everyone. By the time the truck pulled away, five plates of sandwiches and chips sat at the table, glass of lemonade stationed at each setting.

Derek took his upstairs. He'd had enough of family meals and trying to keep his wolf in control around the Omega who'd been helping them out. He needed a reprieve from remaining tensed up and constantly having to hold his breath.

No one argued with him. Melissa didn't insist that he stay and join them. Probably because he'd grabbed his plate after Maria had inquired about the state of her chair and he'd just shrugged, facial features betraying nothing.

Lunch eaten, he set about unpacking his things, putting clothes in the drawers, setting up his laptop and school supplies on his desk, tossing his dirty laundry in the folding mesh hamper he placed next to his desk. Shoes were lined up next to his drawers, trash can under the desk, spare lamp on top, alarm clock situated on the nightstand before being plugged in and set to the correct time. The place still looked completely impersonal and utilitarian, but it was how he wanted it, knowing he wouldn't be there for long.

He hoped anyway.

The last box contained his books and he stood there frowning at it, wondering where exactly to put them. He hadn't been given any shelves for them and a quick scan of the other side of the attic informed him that none were over there either. Maria had mentioned there being more furniture in the basement and he contemplated going down to see for himself when a knock sounded on his door.

His frown turned into a glare as he turned his head towards the opening where the stairs lay, wondering who the fuck was bothering him this time. He assumed it was Melissa coming to chew him out over Maria's chair and to give him another lecture about respecting other people's property and to watch what his claws were doing. Or maybe a reaming about being an anti-social dick. Or another tirade about what an asshole he was being to Stiles.

He smeared a hand over his face, feeling his whiskers rasp against his palms, wishing he could wipe away all thoughts of the Omega as easily as wiping his hand down his face.

Focusing more on his iPod and trying to decide what he wanted to listen to next, he barked out a gruff “c'min” to whoever had knocked, realizing too late what a terrible fucking idea it was.

The door swung open, the scent immediately making its way to Derek's nose. He felt his entire being tingle once more, head jerking up and focusing on the drawers across the bed from him and not the person beginning their ascent into the attic. Stiles.

The Omega's scent teased him, getting stronger and more potent with each step up the creaking stairs. Derek dropped his iPod on the bed before he smashed it in his hand, fingers curling into fists, the bite of his claws stinging his palms. He felt his chest rumbling with a growl and he cut the noise off, gritting his jaw and tensing his muscles to keep himself in place.

“Hey.”

Fuck.

Derek closed his eyes against the voice, breathing in a huge gulp of air to gain control of himself. Huge mistake. All it did was give him a lungful of Stiles' scent and cause his wolf to start clawing and whining, demanding that Derek get over there and claim, to mingle their scents, to rub himself all over the Omega so no one could ever smell him without getting a whiff of the Alpha with it.

Not gonna happen.

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, fingers drumming against cardboard as he shifted from foot to foot. Derek finally opened his eyes—albeit it not all the way, but enough to actually _see_ what was going on—leveling his hard gaze at the younger male.

The Omega stood there with the same easy going smirk as before, box in hand, eyebrows bobbing up in a “hey, how ya doin'?” motion. If he had any inclination that he was a lowly Omega in the den of a mature Alpha, he didn't show it, still seeming as carefree as ever.

Idiot.

Derek fully turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest in a move to intimidate, as well as keep himself from grabbing the Omega and having his way with him until they were both covered in sweat, come, and each others scents. “What do you want?” he questioned on a growl, still glaring, thankful his vision was still normal and not covered by a mask of red.

“Oh, uh.” Stiles raised the box slightly like the elder male hadn't already seen it. “This is yours apparently. It was just dumped on the kitchen table. Figured I'd come bring it to you.”

An eyebrow raised on its own at that. Clearly the kid had issues if he thought going to the bedroom of the guy that had slammed him into a wall the night before was a good idea. He wondered why no one had stopped him, why Scott hadn't held him back or Melissa talked him out of it.

Unless there was some sorta ulterior motive behind it.

His ears searched the other rooms of the house, hearing Melissa and Maria talking in the kitchen, the water running as someone did dishes. A toilet flushed in another room, Scott most likely doing his business. Meaning Stiles had been left alone and ignored and had decided all on his own to go to Derek's room under the pretense of giving him a box of his things.

Definitely an idiot.

“Right,” the Alpha stated flatly. “And you brought it. Now leave.”

“Uh, actually,” Stiles began, stepping over to dump the box on the bed. Derek tried not to think about how close he was to the mattress, about how easy it would be to just shove the box off and push the Omega down onto it, to climb on top and cover that lean frame with his broader one, with his scent. The gray tee and khaki shorts he wore were no match for an Alpha's claws and it would be the work of seconds to get him naked and moaning, that scent stronger and with that spice note he'd inhaled the night before. Derek had fleeting thoughts about how the younger male would taste on his tongue, about what kind of underwear he'd be ripping off in order to get to his cock, his ass, his hole. He'd bury his nose where the Omega's scent was strongest, lap at his dick, suck at the head, before drifting down and eating him out, drinking in the essence of him as his body got him ready to be fucked.

A faint noise reached Derek's ears and it took him a moment to realize it was the sound of Stiles' breath catching in his throat. Eyes flipping to the Omega, he registered how his cheeks were redder, lids halfway down now golden eyes, lips parted and jaw dropped. His breathing was heavier, body trembling, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. And his scent had kicked up a notch, stronger, with that spice note Derek had detected the night before when he had the smaller male pinned to the wall.

Fuck. Shit just got more complicated.

Clearly Derek had failed in his mission to try not to think about having the other male in his bed rather than next to it and his x-rated side-trip hadn't remained in just his mind. Judging by the red and orange tint to everything, his thoughts had leaked out, his dick twitching with interest inside his jeans, his claws digging into his tee, his wolf howling out a demand to go ahead and do everything he'd been thinking about doing. And it wasn't just his physicality that would give everything away, it would be his scent, too. Chances were his own held that same spicy note of arousal and even if Stiles himself couldn't tell exactly what it was, his wolf would. His Omega instincts would tell him that an aroused Alpha was in the vicinity and that his body needed to ready itself for penetration, to give whatever the Alpha wanted without hesitation.

And as much as Derek wanted that, he also didn't want it at all.

Swallowing hard, he fought to keep in control, to rein back his wolf and his instincts and everything inside of him that was screaming to just grab Stiles as he had before and follow through on what he'd started the night before.

“You need to leave,” he ordered, voice a harsh growl that shoved its way past his fangs in a barely understandable rumble.

Stiles' mouth did an impression of a goldfish, lips moving up and down, up and down, up and down, no words coming out. He shook his head rapidly, attempting to snap himself out of it, before awkwardly smoothing his hand over the back of his head. “I was hoping we could talk,” he requested, voice rougher than usual, gesturing to the elder male with his hand before shoving both in his pockets.

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes, fighting off the instinct to give the Omega anything and everything he asked. His wolf was clawing to get out once again, demanding the human-half of him just shut up and let Stiles talk, let him talk forever about anything and everything, if that's what he wanted.

But the human half knew better, knew that letting the younger male talk would not only go against his plan to not get to know him, but also would result in Stiles believing that Derek wasn't such a bad guy and would forgive past transgressions. And with him forgiving what the Alpha had done, it meant the Omega would no longer be so wary—if he was even that way in the first place—of being around him and would be a constant presence in his life. It was _exactly_ what Derek was hoping to avoid.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he replied, tone flat.

“Okay, that's cool, but I—”

“ _You_ ,” Derek interrupted. “Are gonna leave and not come back.”

Stiles' brow furrowed in confusion, hand slipping out his pocket to point at the other male. “But—”

“Your stench is already all over my mattress,” Derek cut in once more, coming up with an excuse that was both understandable and believable. “Now it's gonna be on my shit. I don't need you hanging around getting your Omega stink all over everything else. It's already hard enough to breathe in here without that shit.”

The smaller male's mouth shut, the gold leaking from his eyes, head turning away as he struggled to keep eye contact. His jaw was working, lips twisting in various directions, fingers clenching into fists inside his shorts. Derek had obviously hit a nerve, had hurt the Omega's feelings given the way his scent turned salty.

Something inside the Alpha twisted, a knife slicing into his gut, a wrenching in his heart. His wolf hunkered down, ears back, head on its paws, whimpers leaving it. It clearly felt like shit, hated to see the Omega in pain of any description, especially when the human-half of Derek was to blame. He felt the urge to go over, to wrap Stiles up in his arms and hold him close, to insist he didn't mean it, that he was sorry, that he would do anything to make it better.

But he didn't do it.

Because Stiles being hurt was _exactly_ what he wanted. Because no one would wanna be around the person who was a dick to them and upset them. Because deep down, Derek really _was_ a dick.

And for the first time since his dad's death, he felt like absolute shit and regretted his actions.

Stiles nodded repeatedly, pressing his lips into a hard line, resolution setting into his features as his body hardened. “Right,” he muttered, screwing his face up briefly before flattening his expression. “Well, guess that, uh. Nothing really much to say to that.”

Derek kept his own poker face up, digging his claws further into his shirt to prevent his hands from reaching out and pulling the younger male close and holding him tight until he was forgiven again. Instead, he shrugged a shoulder, playing nonchalance, acting like he hadn't a care in the world about what he'd said and how it'd been taken.

When in all actuality, part of him deep down had broken.

But it was easily ignored. For the time being anyway.

The Omega swallowed hard, licked his lips, nodded some more. Without another word, he turned on a sneaker-clad foot and quickly made his way downstairs, shutting the attic door behind himself.

Derek didn't move for another long moment, ears listening out for the sounds of Stiles shuffling into Scott's room, false cheer in his voice as he greeted his friend and pretended like everything was okay and no, he wasn't lying, did he want Scott to set up the wifi or not? Satisfied that his own lie had been bought, Derek forced his body to relax, exhaling slow and long. It wasn't until he pulled his hands from his sides and dropped his arms that he realized there was blood on claws, that his sides were bleeding, that he'd hurt himself physically after hurting Stiles emotionally.

Standing in the middle of his room, staring at the red under his nails and barely feeling the sting of the slices he'd inflicted upon himself, Derek knew he was more fucked than he originally thought.


	5. Past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay between chapters but parts of this fought me and then life... Urgh. Life.
> 
> Once again I apologize if my Spanish is wrong and please feel free to correct anything that needs correcting. I took French in high school sooo... *shrugs *
> 
> Not sure if I have anything else to say. I'm kinda emotionally preparing myself for the end of “Being Human” tonight and then seeing “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” tomorrow. Basically, I'm in for some feels hell... Enjoy the chapter and lemme know whatcha think :)

Derek didn't move for a minute or two. And when he finally did, the motions were mechanical, body on auto-pilot, a strange sort of numbness settling over him that he didn't look at too closely.

He picked his iPod up from where he'd dropped it on his bed, shoving the white buds in his ears and blasting Avenged Sevenfold's new album to block out the noises coming from the rest of the house. The box Stiles had brought up was still sitting on his mattress and he glared at it before finally stalking his way over to it. He touched it as little as possible as he carried it over to the far side of his half of the room, depositing it on the other side of the bureau without bothering to check its contents. A spur of the moment decision later and his box of books was placed on top. He'd worry about what to do with them later.

Flopping onto his back, he picked up his book and began reading it where he'd left off, barely registering what was written. His mind kept drifting to the conversation he'd just had with Stiles, the way he'd barked out insults and growled until the Omega left. It was total douchebag Alpha behavior, an over the top way to display strength and ranking and territory. And, okay, Derek could admit that maybe he'd been a tiny bit too harsh with what he said to Stiles. But the world was full of assholes and the sooner the kid realized that, the better.

His wolf-half didn't seem to agree with that statement, remaining on its belly, head still on its paws, whining pitifully. Derek knew it wanted him to go downstairs, to check on Stiles, to make sure he was okay and there were no hard feelings, but he refused. He was sick and fucking tired of his body making the decisions for him and he was gonna stand his fucking ground on this. For once, he was refusing to let the choice be taken from him.

He didn't get to choose whether or not his dad died.

He didn't get to choose whether or not he moved to California.

He sure as fuck _could_ choose whether he let some little Omega prick and his fucking _scent_ affect his life and control his other decisions.

His wolf snorted. Derek ignored it.

Derek finally managed to shut his mind off, allowing him to get lost in his book and forget about the fact that the world existed and that there were people in it. There were no Alphas, no Omegas, no dead parents, no infuriating—and intoxicating—scents, just fictional characters and their own fictional problems. It was exactly the way he wanted it to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The scents of dinner dragged Derek back to reality, the usual blend of spices that always accompanied Maria's cooking. His stomach grumbled, clearly pissed that it'd been ignored since lunch, and demanding he fix the emptiness it was currently suffering.

He shoved his bookmark in to hold his place, flipping the paperback shut before placing it on his bed. The iPod soon joined it before he rose to his feet, stretching out muscles that had been tightened by laying in the same position for so long. A quick crack of the neck, a roll of the shoulders, and he scuffed his way towards the stairs and down them.

He headed down the hallway, pausing outside Scott's room and focusing his hearing for any sounds inside. It was only when he noticed a distinct lack of heartbeats that he realized what exactly he was doing: he was checking on Stiles.

And Scott, he mentally added.

Although he wasn't sure _why_ he added that. Or why he'd wanna check on either of them.

All right, if he was being honest with himself, he knew why he was trying to listen out for Stiles. Lucky for him, he was completely okay with lying.

Forcing his legs back into motion, he continued on his way along the hall, ears picking up the sounds of conversation in the kitchen. Two female voices, two heartbeats, no teenage boys in the house.

The words Maria and Melissa were speaking became clearer as he paced down the steps, the scent of dinner soon being joined by those of aggravation and frustration. Derek paused at the bottom of the stairs, debating if he wanted to bother continuing on his way to the kitchen, if he wanted to subject himself to whatever disagreement was happening between the two of them. He wasn't all that fond of conversation in the first place; a heated one where he was forced to endure feeling awkward and out of place wasn't any higher on his list of things he enjoyed. Seemed like it would just be better to turn right around and head back to the attic before he was caught wavering and made to go into the kitchen anyway.

His stomach grumbled again, telling him that no, retreating to the attic wasn't an option.

Shit.

He smeared a hand over his face, whiskers scratching his palm, Maria's words hitting his ears and snapping him to attention.

“All I'm saying, _mija_ ,” she began then paused, stirring something in a pan. “Is that his behavior isn't normal.”

An exacerbated sigh left Melissa in response and Derek could practically picture her with her eyes rolled to the sky, lips pressed together in a harsh line as she struggled not to tell her mom exactly how she was feeling, knowing it would just make the situation worse. It happened way too often.

“I can't see how you can put up with all that anger and aggression,” Maria continued, most likely oblivious to her daughter's reaction. Or uncaring. Or both. “He's just like his father in that aspect. Don't know how you put up with that from him either. Or him at all, really.”

Derek felt his fingers curl up into fists, his muscles tighten as they got ready to pounce. Knowing that it was his abuela who had said that shit stopped him, held him in place, prevented him from ripping into the person who'd insulted his father, his pack leader, his Alpha.

There were certain things in werewolf culture that one just didn't do. That was one of them.

“You can't help who your soul mate is, Mom,” Melissa countered, voice even, reasonable, the sounds of ceramic against wood joining her as she set the table. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

The elder female scoffed, banging some sort of utensil against the edge of the pan before setting it aside. “Back in high school, it wanted John. Not entirely sure what happened to its common sense after you graduated, but it clearly knew what was best for you back then.”

Derek barely heard the sigh Melissa let out at that statement, the sound drowned out by his boots thudding against the carpet as he stopped his way into the kitchen. He could feel the tiny pinpricks of claws digging into his palms, felt his teeth tingle as they elongated into fangs. His dad wasn't around anymore, but he still felt offended on the elder McHale's behalf, still felt angered at the insinuation of Andrew's mate being with someone else.

And yeah, reasonably, Derek was aware that his parents weren't each others first love, that they'd dated other people before meeting at college, and that was perfectly fine, perfectly normal. But his wolf was having trouble reconciling the fact that someone else had touched his Alpha's mate, that yet another person thought she should be with him rather than his dad. Melissa Delgado had been fated to be with Andrew McHale and that was that. It was just a fact and the sooner Maria realized this, the better.

And if he had to help her come to this conclusion, then so be it.

“Who the hell is John?” he demanded to know as he entered the kitchen, a slight growl to his words.

Two heads snapped to him, Maria standing by the stove with a spatula in hand, Melissa by the table laying down a plate. Both had their eyebrows raised in surprise, both staring at him wide-eyed, both shocked at his sudden appearance and the heat behind his words.

His green eyes switched back and forth between the two of them, eyebrow cocked as he impatiently awaited an answer.

Maria looked at her daughter, lips pursed and eyebrows bobbing in a full “told you so” manner, before turning back to the stove, back to the other two occupants in the kitchen. Derek snapped his head over to Melissa, folding his arms over his chest, raising his second eyebrow in expectation.

She put the plate down properly, wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans, tucked some of her curly hair behind an ear, procrastinated. Hands on her lower back, she looked the picture of casualness and ease, face betraying nothing as she spoke.

“My high school sweetheart,” she finally answered, her heartbeat as steady as her voice. “We broke up after graduation because I was headed to NYU and he was joining the army and off to basic training. It just didn't make sense for us to stay together so we didn't. Then I met your dad and none of that seemed to matter.” A small wistful smile formed on her face at the last part, her eyes a mix of sadness at the loss of her husband and joy that she'd had two decades of marriage with him.

Maria scoffed again, tapping the edge of the frying pan with her spatula. “I still say you should've stuck it out with John, instead of getting mixed up with _wolves_ ,” she spat the last word as she moved the pan off the hot ring, twisting the knob and turning the heat off.

Derek growled at the insinuation that there was anything wrong with werewolves, hating the discriminatory tone she used with the word. Seemed as though there was nothing about him that she approved of: his attitude, his sexuality, his _species_.

So much for grandmothers being loving and doting and spoiling their grandkids with hand-knitted sweaters, homemade cookies, and way too many cheek pinches.

His name was spoken as a warning, his eyes flipping over to view Melissa's chastising expression. “Why don't you have your dinner in your room?” she proposed in a tone that was less than friendly, eyebrows raised in a wordless order for him to just go along with whatever she said and god fucking help him if he disagreed.

Not that he'd go against a suggestion to be alone. Must've been a habit of hers left over from when he'd still given a fuck about things.

He cut the growls off, not bothering to retract his fangs or claws, eyes narrowed in a glare at Maria. She was completely stoic, unbothered, not seeming to care that she'd just pissed off her grandson. Her grandson who had the ability to tear her throat out with one swipe of his hand.

Brave. Or dumb.

Knowing Maria Delgado, Derek would go with the first.

Melissa picked up the plate she had placed at Derek's usual seat, walking over to the stove and putting food on it. Derek busied himself by grabbing his cutlery and a drink, taking the full plate when it was offered to him.

Only she didn't let go.

“You're still doing the dishes tonight,” she stated in a voice that brokered no argument.

He nodded once, showing he understood, wishing she'd just let him go already.

“And I'm gonna need your help running some errands tomorrow.”

Another nod and she finally released his plate, allowing him to leave.

Maria made a noise of disapproval, a small snort of sorts, when he reached the stairs. Melissa sighed once again, her hair swishing as she ran a hand through it.

“He's grieving,” she defended her son, tone harsh. “It's just a phase.”

Another scoff. “He's a werewolf, _querida_. Anger and aggression isn't a phase; it's a way of life. Especially for an Alpha.”

Derek nearly lost his footing as he stepped onto the second floor landing, stunned that she was completely understanding. Not to mention correct. In time, her daughter would see how right she was.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke up at 3:30 AM this time, not bothering with the pretense of trying to get back to sleep. Instead, he got out of bed, threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a wifebeater, slipped his feet into his sneakers and headed downstairs. He remembered to grab a bottle of water this time, not as desperate to get out the house as he had been the day before, quietly shutting the front door behind himself.

He ran the same circuitous route as he previously had, making sure to keep on pace the entire time and not get distracted by the house next door. He'd been affected by that Omega's scent enough; he didn't need it fucking with his run, too.

Two hours later, and Derek was back inside. He chugged another bottle of water then headed upstairs to shower, remembering to grab a change of clothes before going to the bathroom. By six am, he was clean, dressed, and laying on his back on his bed, waiting. He willed himself to go back to sleep, instead finding himself thinking of his friends back home. It would be ten in New York. Chances were most of them had completed their own run hours ago. Some would've gone back to bed, others would've stayed up, gotten a start on their day. A couple had summer jobs that they'd probably be heading off to. Others would laze about by the pool or head to the park to practice. He'd be with the latter group, dragging Scott along with him in order to make the younger McHale be more social, make him a better player.

New York felt like a whole other world, a different life that he barely remembered having. Part of him really missed it, missed his friends, the loose interpretation of a pack that he had. He wished he'd taken more advantage of the time he'd had left with them over the summer, had taken them up on offers to hang, practice, party.

Then again, maybe he didn't wish that.

Still, California was something entirely different, a whole new environment he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to become comfortable with.

That thought made him realize the full moon was only a couple weeks away and he was gonna have to find a place to shift and run. He hadn't seen Maria's basement, but he highly doubted it was equipped to deal with a confined wolf that wanted nothing more than to run and chase and howl. New York wasn't known for its forestry, but the wooded area his dad took him to was perfect, familiar, a place he felt completely at ease in, something that helped make his communion with his wolf all the more better. A content wolf-half led to a content human-half.

Not that he'd know what that was like anymore. Apparently every decision he made lately pissed his wolf off.

Derek ended up drifting off to sleep, waking up to the sounds of shuffling underneath his floor. He listened to the sounds of still sleepy people moving about their rooms as they got ready for their days, not bothering to move until the noises had drifted down to the main floor, everyone gathering in the kitchen for breakfast. He waited another ten minutes before going to join them, his stomach once again dictating his actions.

Breakfast was silent and awkward, the tension so thick Derek could feel it as well as smell it. Maria and Melissa were apparently still not seeing eye to eye, still agitated after their disagreement the night before. Derek was still pissed at the elder female over her derogatory comments regarding werewolves, as well as her remarks that her daughter would've been better off married to someone else other than his father, not to mention was still in his anti-social “phase”.

Scott was the only one not aggravated by anyone—at the moment anyway—and worked to relieve the tension by blathering on about his plans for the day, going with Stiles to meet the Omega's friends and teammates and playing some lacrosse in the park before heading out to dinner. Derek briefly marveled at the role reversal, at how, a couple months ago, it would've been him rambling on about his busy social schedule of practice with these guys, hanging with those dudes, meeting up with Kate somewhere for some group date activity he was being dragged to. Cheerleaders and their constant pep could get on anyone's nerves, even the most outgoing of people. More than once he found himself wondering how Kate made the team, given her proclivity to be more snarky and rude than cheery and smiley.

Then again, she probably threatened her way onto the team, made captain through sheer intimidation alone. That, plus she filled out the costume damn well.

Breakfast over, Derek cleared the table and washed the dishes before heading back to his room. He shoved his feet into his boots, gathered his cell, wallet, and keys, then made his way back downstairs. A minute or so later, Melissa joined him in the living room, giving instructions about boxes that needed to be loaded into the back of the station wagon, explaining how they were all old things from their attic back in New York—as well as unnecessary items such as dishware and pots and pans that weren't needed at that moment but could be in the future—and they had to be stored somewhere else.

Derek fulfilled the task, carrying the heavier of the boxes, loading the beater of a car up. His Camaro and Melissa's sedan had arrived the previous evening, hers now parked on the driveway alongside her mom's, his by the edge of the lawn, but the large amount of boxes that needed to be taken could only be transported in a vehicle with a large amount of space.

Like the station wagon.

Melissa drove, Derek silent in the passenger seat, the radio playing a Spanish language station on one of the AM frequencies that Maria kept it on. He knew better than to mess with the stations, a lesson learned when he was a kid and touching the dials resulted in an ear pinching. It hurt a lot more than it sounded, especially to a werewolf who had extra sensitive ones.

Their destination was a self-storage facility near the outskirts of town. Melissa punched in the code to open the front gate, heading straight for the second row of buildings and stopping halfway down. Engine killed, she got out, Derek doing the same, and stepped over to the large unit she'd parked in front of. Padlock undone, she hefted up the door, revealing a half-filled room.

Derek stepped inside the temperature controlled unit, knuckles idly knocking against the metal wall as his mind entertained the possibility of renting one out for shifting. Then again, it was probably a terrible idea. His wolf hated being locked up anywhere, especially on a full moon. He'd end up tearing the place apart and ripping his way through the metal door. It would cost more to pay for damages than to rent it in the first place.

Melissa called for his attention and he set to work, lugging in boxes from the car and setting them where instructed. His eyes roamed over the unit's contents as he did so, seeing other boxes of various sizes and shapes, pieces of furniture, parts of a bed and a baby crib, a bassinet, baby gates and play pens. He found a box labeled “ _Melissa Baby Stuff_ ” next to the items, following instructions to place ones labeled “ _Derek Baby Stuff_ ” and “ _Scott Baby Stuff_ ” beside them. He spotted others with her name on it: childhood toys, old books she'd probably forgotten about, high school projects and college papers, clothing from when she was younger.

It wasn't until the last box had been moved from the station wagon into the unit that he spotted one with “ _Andrew_ ” written on the side.

In Maria's handwriting.

He cocked an eyebrow at that, staring at the name, chest feeling tight. He'd never really thought about where his dad's old stuff had ended up, if his parents had kept childhood mementos or trashed them when they'd stopped talking to their eldest child. It was hard for him to really think about what his dad had even been like before he was born, before he was with his mom, something he'd been confronted with the night before when her old high school boyfriend's name had come up. But they'd had eighteen years apart from each other, eighteen years of growing up and aging and developing, eighteen years of existence and memories and life. Surely there'd be things commemorating Andrew McHale's early life, even if it was his first pair of shoes dipped in gold, his first photo at the hospital, an old yearbook.

Derek's feet moved before he was conscious of sending the command, soon finding himself standing in front of the box as it sat on top of a stack that held Melissa's baby clothes and toys. It was a strange juxtaposition, the items that were at the beginning of one mate's life right next to the items of the mate who'd died.

A strange tingle broke out over his skin, the tightness in his chest constricting more, making it hard to breathe much less feel anything. It was the hospital all over again, the numbness that had come with being told his dad had been killed, the feeling of being far away from everything as he heard what happened, as he saw a claw tear through the tape holding the box closed.

Dust flew as he parted the flaps, tickling his nose. He scrunched it up against the sensation, sniffed, focused on what he was doing. Not that he was even aware that he was doing it. It was like he was watching someone else's hands move, like one of those first person shooter video games. The hands were visible, the end of the gun, and it looked just like he imagined it would be if he held the AK himself.

Only he'd never held a gun, and at that moment, he wasn't even holding a controller. He just... _was_.

Retracting his claw, he reached inside the box, fingers coming in contract with a smooth, tough material. He pulled it out, black leather unfolding, reforming into a jacket. Holding it close to his nose, he inhaled deeply, scenting the coat. Beneath the must and the cardboard and the leather itself, was the distinct scent of his dad, that earthy, spicy, woodsy smell that could only be defined as Andrew McHale.

Fuck.

Derek's brow furrowed as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he missed his dad's scent, a million memories coming rolling back like a tidal wave, drowning him in the past. Cuddling up to his dad as he told bedtime stories to his boys. Riding in the car on the way to the woods to turn. Congratulatory hugs after a game well played. Being carried on his dad's back as they hiked as a family, both boys worn out from a long day. His hair being ruffed, an arm around his neck as he was pulled close after a run.

He let the scent wash over him, calming his wolf, setting his human side at ease. The smell of his Alpha brought peace, meant safety. His dad always protected his family, always made sure they were safe and secure and that nothing could or would ever happen to them.

None of them had ever even considered the possibility of something terrible happening to the one person who made it his life to make sure it never occurred to anyone else.

A small hand rested between his shoulder blades, a head appearing out the corner of his eye. Melissa tucked a loose chunk of hair behind her ear, the strands having fallen out of her ponytail, her own dark eyes fixated on the jacket in Derek's hand. A small laugh left her on a breath, corner of her lips twisted up in a wan smile, fingers reaching out to gingerly feel along the collar of the coat.

“It was your dad's,” she said softly, quietly, snorting at herself. “Of course you knew that. Probably still smells like him, huh?”

Derek didn't answer, didn't look at her, just rubbed his thumbs on the shoulders of the jacket as he held it tightly.

“Your abuela hated this thing,” Melissa continued, unperturbed by her son's lack of response, probably used to it at that point. “Your dad wore it when he first met her, which didn't seem like that big a deal to me since he wore the thing everywhere. She wasn't too thrilled about it, made him take it off then she hid it somewhere. I thought she trashed it to be honest 'cause neither of us saw it again.” A nostalgic grin formed on her face, before her lips twisted to the side. “She never really approved of the rebellious, leather-clad werewolf I brought home, said right to his face that he shouldn't get too attached to me because I was just going through a phase.”

Derek snorted at that, partially because he knew it wasn't the truth. Maria probably wouldn't have—and still didn't—understood what a mate was to a werewolf, how it was for life, more so than any human marriage. Those could always end in divorce—and half of them did—but with werewolves, it truly was until death do they part. Losing a mate was the same as losing a limb and wasn't something one took lightly. Even Derek understood that feeling, that attachment, that _need_ , understood how it was just as much instinct as it was emotions, and that finding a mate and completing the ceremony wasn't something that was as easily dismissed as wedding vows.

If the stories he'd heard growing up were true, then his dad probably knew his mom was his mate when they first met, if not shortly thereafter. And while it wouldn't have been the same for Melissa, in time she would've grown to love him and wanna be there for him. For Andrew, meeting her mom was a huge step, was the same as being introduced to one's pack, and it would've only come after he knew for a fact that they would end up mated—and then eventually married, given his mate's human instincts, traditions, and desires.

But the snort was at more than just the disbelief that someone wouldn't understand how his parents were literally fated to be together. It was also at Maria's complete inability to get that certain things weren't phases, that it was a true part of them and was for life. She knew that Alphas were more aggressive, had a habit of leaning more towards the anger end of the emotional spectrum, but couldn't accept that mates weren't a passing fancy, that his bisexuality wasn't just a curious itch he wanted to scratch. It grated on his nerves, ruffled his wolf's fur the wrong way, and more than once, he'd wanted to grab her and growl until she finally got it and accepted it and moved on without any more snarky comments, eye rolls, or disapproving Spanish epithets.

Still staring at the jacket he held, Derek replied in a low voice, practically muttering under his breath. “I can relate.”

The hand between his shoulder blades rubbed across them in a soothing manner, the smile on Melissa's face changing to a more sympathetic one. “I'm sorry about what your abuela said last night.”

He shrugged, playing it off. He knew she was referring to what the elder female had said about him, something that honestly hadn't bothered him all that much. He'd been more pissed off at the slights against his father and the insinuation that his mom would've been better off with someone else. “It's fine,” he stated honestly. “Kinda accepted that she won't ever like me.”

A few months ago, the admission would've hurt, would've stung. He wasn't exactly clamoring for her approval, but it would've been nice to know that she would've been happy with his choices in life—not that his sexuality was a choice, but he would've liked to be able to introduce a boyfriend and not get an eyeroll and some snark in response. But now, he just didn't give a fuck what anyone thought about anything, especially not when it came to himself. Knowing Maria didn't approve of him being bi or like how he was behaving lately just didn't affect him like it would have before his dad's death.

Melissa cupped his chin, jerking his head around so he was forced to meet her eyes. He took in the grave look on her face, the seriousness in her dark orbs, the determined set of her lips and jaw. She clearly wasn't fucking around with whatever it was she was about to say.

“Your abuela _loves_ you,” she stated firmly, ignoring the snort she got in response. “She's from a small village in Mexico where things are different, not to mention is from a generation where werewolves were still looked down upon and being gay was a psychological disease, not a natural instinct. It's harder for her to accept things after having been told so often during her developmental years that those things were wrong. But she does love you, even if she doesn't completely understand you.”

Derek didn't say anything, features flat as he just stared at her. He honestly didn't care about any excuses or explanations, about why certain people were the way they were. If anything, Maria's blatant disapproval of him made it easier to just write her off and no longer care about any sorta relationship and anything happening to it.

Melissa let out a sigh, releasing her son's head and the jacket he still held, stepping back. “Why don't you take the jacket?” she suggested, knowing the topic of her mom was done, that Derek wasn't gonna comment or argue or keep that conversation going in any way. “Your dad would've wanted you to have it.”

He felt that familiar tightness in his chest once more, eyes flipping back to the leather coat. Part of him hesitated for a brief moment, knowing it wasn't his property, his jacket, but her words hit him somewhere deep inside. His dad would've wanted him to have it. His dad hadn't worn it in years. His dad couldn't wear it anymore.

Mind made up, he put the jacket on, feeling the cool leather against his arms as he slid them in the sleeves, pulling the front together to double-check the zipper would reach. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms, crossed and uncrossed the limbs, all to check there was enough room in the jacket for movement.

Perfect fit.

The sad smile returned to Melissa's face as she watched him, one arm folded over her chest, the other holding her hand in front of her lips as her eyes got watery. Derek couldn't stand to see the look on her face so he switched his gaze to the jacket, checking zips and pockets and clasps, busying himself.

“Looks good,” she commented, voice rough before she cleared her throat. “Really goes with the stubble you need to shave.”

Derek _did_ look at her then, an eyebrow raised in a “you can't be fucking serious” expression. She simply breathed out a chuckle, her grin growing to something more genuine and amused.

“C'mon,” she started, motioning to the open door with her head. “We still have a couple more stops to make. I'll let you drive.”

He nodded, slipping the jacket off and carrying it in his hand as he left the self-storage unit with her. As he stepped outside, he cast one last glance at the box with his dad's name on it, wondering what other memories were stored inside and if he really did wanna find out what they were.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Their second stop was the high school, Derek dragged inside to sit bored as Melissa signed both he and Scott up and made sure all their paperwork and transcripts had made their way across the country with the move. It had taken longer than it should've, most of the workers in a rush to finalize things before school started in a few days. Someone asked Derek if he was excited, his eyes rolling on their own accord. The guidance counselor asked if he was signing back up for basketball and lacrosse and he stood up, telling Melissa he'd wait in the car for her. She didn't argue or disagree, even when she finally joined him twenty minutes later, only letting him know that he needed to stop by the guidance office first thing Monday morning in order to pick up his schedule. He nodded once before starting the car, mind solely focused on the fact that it was a hundred-eighty school days before he graduated and could leave.

Stop number three was lunch, Melissa treating Derek to In-N-Out Burger, telling him that he and Scott missed out on them by growing up on the east coast. He didn't bother correcting her on the fact that both McHale sons had eaten there during summer vacations to Maria's, instead just grunting and putting a few more fries in his mouth. A burger was a burger, not to mention they were all overcooked no matter where they were bought. He figured it was the wolf in him that preferred things rare and as close to still bleeding as possible.

Maria called on the way to stop number three, requesting Melissa pick up four steaks and some potatoes for dinner. The younger female repeatedly asked why they were needed, the elder evading it by mentioning items already on the grocery list before lying about needing to run and hanging up. Melissa sighed from the passenger seat and rubbed her forehead, muttering to herself in Spanish, a habit that was apparently hereditary.

Derek briefly contemplated needing to watch out for signs of doing just that in himself before shoving the thought aside and focusing on the road.

Grocery shopping took nearly an hour and a half, something Melissa attributed to a combination of the excessive amount of food they needed to buy—“Because feeding two teenage boys isn't bad enough, it's two teenage _werewolf_ boys”—and being unfamiliar with the layout of the store. Derek was just glad to get more protein in the house with the full moon looming so near. The shift always took a lot outta him, his body breaking apart and rearranging into something else, and it needed a lot to recover. Protein and carbs helped keep him going, helped his muscles repair themselves and his body to continue with its basic functions. And while carbs weren't scarce in Maria's kitchen, it could've used more of the other stuff. A couple tubs of protein powder, some energy bars, Gatorade, and oatmeal would definitely do the job and he couldn't contain the slight upturn of his lips at the fact that Melissa just put the items in the cart without him needing to ask as he pushed it along behind her.

Then again, after two decades of buying it, she probably didn't need the reminder. It was more habit than anything really.

But still, he couldn't help but feel a little touched, especially when he realized that with his dad gone and Scott still not having reached full maturity, he was the only one using it. And she was buying it just for him.

Unloading the groceries took time, Scott still out with his friends, Melissa only able to carry so much, Maria even less. The elder female stayed in the kitchen, putting things away, pointing it out to Melissa when needed, using Derek's height to store things on higher shelves.

The steaks were snatched from his hands before he got a chance to put them in the fridge, brow drawn as he stared after Maria's retreating back. He exchanged a curious look with Melissa, who shrugged before turning to the elder Delgado.

“Uh, Mom? Who're the steaks for?”

“Dinner,” she replied easily, pulling a chopping board out from a lower cabinet then sliding open a drawer.

Derek rolled his eyes, thinking the answer she'd given was obvious and completely inappropriate for the question that had been posed. Melissa just sighed before returning to her previous task, deciding she'd find out eventually and that there was no way to talk to her mom when she wasn't willing to give a straight answer.

Evasion, thy name is Maria Delgado.

Once the groceries were put away, Maria delegated tasks. Derek was sent on a search for the nice tablecloth that was apparently only ever used for special occasions—at least according to Melissa's questioning commentary once the task had been assigned—and told to put out the good dishware and cutlery. Curiosity and mistrust was a thick scent in the air and he knew his own emotions were adding to it, but he still went along with what he was told.

Melissa was told to handle the baked potatoes and steamed vegetables while Maria cooked the steaks. She scoffed after asking how Derek wanted his and got “bleeding” as a response, muttering in Spanish about werewolves and their disgusting eating habits, wrapping it up with a “ _lobito loco_ ”.

He stifled a growl at the insinuation that he was still a pup, taking a deep calming breath. His day had been pretty decent. No need to fuck it up for no real reason.

Dinner was almost ready when the doorbell chimed, Derek's head snapping up from where he'd been putting white candles in the candelabra—another task he'd raised an eyebrow at, the suspicion scent in the air growing—that sat in the center of the round table. He turned his head to look at the back of Maria's, awaiting the inevitable instruction of going to see who it was.

Only that didn't happen.

“ _Mija_ , get the door, would you?”

Both eyebrows raised at that, his head then turning to Melissa's, noting a similar expression of surprise as she stood by a different counter, arm still reaching up to grab the wine glasses she'd been told to fetch. Her mouth goldfished a few times before she kept it closed and left the room, on her way to the front door.

Derek returned his gaze to the remaining female in the kitchen, eyebrow raised as he watched her move a steak from the pan onto a plate. He wasn't expecting an explanation from her, not really, but it would've been nice if his expectations hadn't been met for once.

At least in that case.

His own job complete, he lightly stepped over to where Melissa had previous been standing, ears focused outside the kitchen. He heard the sound of the door opening, the gasp she let out, the surprised way she breathed out a simple name.

“John?”

Oh. Fuck. No.

Derek slowly and purposely moved as he took down the wine glasses she hadn't gotten yet, still listening in on the people by the front door. He heard the soft “Hi, Melissa”, the “Wow! You look great”, the “so do you”, the hug. Clearly it was the John that had been mentioned the night before, Melissa's old high school boyfriend, the one her mom had wanted her to marry instead of Derek's dad. And there was no way it was a coincidence that he was ringing their doorbell the very next day, especially not after Maria's request for steaks, a nice table setting, and wine.

She was trying to get them back together.

With extra care, Derek placed a fourth glass down before grabbing the edge of the counter, breathing slowly and deeply. He really should've seen it coming. There was no way he could go an entire twenty-four hours with shit being okay, no way he could have a decent day like that. Shit was bound to go wrong at some point, something was bound to happen that would rankle his nerves and light his short fuse.

At least it wasn't Stiles this time, he absently thought.

Flexing his fingers, he double-checked that his claws hadn't slid out without him noticing, that he hadn't scratched up yet another piece of furniture. Blunt human fingernails stared up at him, a small hint of relief hitting him, but doing nothing to ease the tension in his muscles.

He was in for another fun dinner, he just knew it.

Footsteps sounded out as they made their way into the kitchen, Maria finally turning from the stove and letting out an overly cheery greeting before walking to the new arrival. Derek ignored them, keeping his head down as he set the glasses at the table, focusing more on perfect placement that he honestly didn't care about. He just didn't want to be a part of their conversation.

“Derek?”

So of course he was dragged into it.

He raised his head at Melissa's voice, walked around the table at her expression, stopping in front of the stranger with his arms folded over his chest. Derek had a good inch or two of height on him, but they appeared to have the same wide build. His eyes were a bright blue, wrinkles around them, age and stress evident in wrinkles and graying brown hair. He was dressed in a beat up pair of jeans and burgundy Henley, the outfit far too casual for the level of fancy Maria was shooting for with this dinner. And his scent was...

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

“Derek, this is Sheriff John Stilinski,” his mom introduced, smile evident in her voice, lips turned up at the corners in a small grin.

Of. Fucking. Course.

It would've been too much to ask that her old boyfriend be just some random guy named John. But no, it had to be the county's sheriff, had to be their next door neighbor, had to be the father of Scott's best friend and an Omega Derek was trying so hard to pretend didn't exist. Every inhale brought John's scent into his brain, his olfactory sense tearing it apart, analyzing it, desperate to find that special note that belonged to Stiles and spoke of blood relations.

And he found it, deep beneath gun cleaner, Old Spice, dry cleaner chemicals, and whiskey. Deep beneath the flavors that made up John's own unique scent, the musk that made him a man, the warmth that spoke of “father”, the spice that said he was still virile and available, the salty taste of loss and grief over a deceased mate.

He hated that that last note had also made its way into Melissa's own scent, a permanent reminder of what had been taken from them.

A friendly smile formed on John's face, a slight unease making the edges of it twitch, his scent wary. It was perfectly natural, even after decades of werewolves being “out”, for humans to have that reaction when confronted with one of the supernatural creatures. It was a deeply embedded reaction, an instinct that screamed that the person before them was a predator and a danger and they should get the fuck out _now_.

But with John, that caution was also met with bravery, an air of authority that Derek was sure came with a gold star badge, a khaki uniform, and a black pistol. He figured the guy had arrested plenty werewolves, had probably handled feral ones, dangerous ones during full moons. The sheriff—despite being human—was the ultimate ruler of his territory and even the biggest, toughest Alpha would go along with his commands.

The gun he carried with him, despite being out of uniform, most likely had something to do with that. Bullets wouldn't kill a werewolf—unless it pierced the heart and the wolf bled out before it could be removed—but they still hurt like a bitch.

At least that's what Derek had been told anyway. He wasn't about to find out first hand though.

John extended his right hand towards the werewolf, friendly smile still in place, scent and heartbeat both saying he was calm and relaxed. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

The Alpha stared him down through narrowed eyes, red flashing in them in warning, before shaking the other man's hand. His grip was strong, skin rough, signs that he wasn't a weakling and that he could take care of his own. Derek had to respect him for that, but still kept his guard up, still made sure the sheriff knew that he was now in the Alpha's territory, despite being the legal authority of the area.

The hard stare remained as they parted hands, Maria instructing everyone to sit down before serving them. John complimented the food, how good it smelled, how Stiles wouldn't let him eat red meat anymore. Derek snorted, eyes rolling at the thought of such a powerful figurehead being bossed around by a little Omega. Melissa glared at him in warning, but he ignored it, choosing to glare at the man seated across from him. If he was weak enough to let his son dictate his diet, he deserved to be laughed at.

Dinner passed by awkwardly, tension growing in the air. Derek knew he was to blame for the curt way he spoke to the sheriff, but couldn't bring himself to care. He was in Derek's territory; the Alpha would treat him however he wanted to.

Conversations started out with John talking about his time in the Army, how he left after his contract was up because his wife had gotten pregnant and he wanted to be there for his family. Derek questioned how going from one life-threatening job to another was “being there”, voice hard and accusatory, glare permanently attached to his face.

That had ended that topic.

Talk then shifted to Scott and Stiles and what a coincidence it was that their sons managed to become friends on the internet then move in next door to each other. A growl rumbled up from Derek's chest at the mention of the Omega's name—although he didn't really know why—effectively putting an end to that subject, too.

Things devolved into small talk, comments on the weather, how it was supposed to rain the next day, how the winter wouldn't be as harsh or unforgiving in Beacon Hills as it had been in New York. Derek insisted that seasons were a thing and should actually exist, unlike how things seemed to be in California. John smiled and commented that he'd get used to it and grow to like the fact that he wouldn't have to bundle up as much and battle the snow and cold just to get a car. The Alpha had allowed his eyes to turn red and his fangs to lengthen before simply stating “werewolf”.

The kick to his shin courtesy of Melissa barely registered, but he still put the eyes and fangs away.

The final straw had been when John asked Melissa how she was adjusting to life in California, placing his hand over her's at her lie of being okay, informing her that if there was anything she ever needed, to just ask him.

“You could leave.”

Derek ignored the wide-eyed stares of the two women at the table, keeping his reddened glare fixated on the other man, arms folded over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. Melissa huffed out a sigh, eyes flipping to the ceiling in a quick prayer before turning to John, rearranging her features to an image of friendliness and “please don't judge me for my asshole son”.

“You don't have to,” she insisted, kicking Derek's shin again.

“Yes, he does.”

She turned and glared at him, jaw tensed and jaw gritted as she argued. “No. He doesn't.”

Derek opened his mouth to debate, but was cut off by the sheriff butting in.

“It's okay. I really should get going,” he commented, false grin on his face. “I've got the early shift down at the station tomorrow.”

Melissa goldfished again, struggling to come up with an argument to get him to stay, giving up when he rose to his feet. She did the same, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I'll walk you to the door.”

John's smile became more genuine, friendlier, before turning to Maria. “Thanks for dinner,” he stated, turning to the werewolf across from him. “Derek,” he acknowledged with a nod of the head. Turning, he left the kitchen.

Melissa ordered her son to clear the table, glaring at him as if to dare him to pull anymore shit, following their guest out the room.

Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing his and Melissa's plates before carrying them to the sink. Without meaning to, his ears picked up the sounds of her and John's footsteps as they walked to the front door, two heartbeats with paces faster than usual.

“I'm sorry for his behavior,” she stated, the steps stopping as they paused by the door. “He's having a hard time here lately. He and his dad were really close and—”

“It's okay,” John interrupted softly, honestly. “Stiles was the same way after Claudia's death. Maybe it's a werewolf thing? I—” He paused, sighed, fabric rustling as he shook his head. “I don't know. I just know that it's hard for kids to adjust to a new family dynamic.”

Melissa let out a small huff of a laugh, following it up with a sarcastic “no kidding” as Derek dumped potato skins into the trash, quietly stepping over to grab the other plates.

“But I meant what I said,” he insisted, tone still friendly and caring. “If there's every anything you need—” He let the sentence trail off, knowing the sentiment had been heard and understood.

“I know. Thanks, John.”

Derek heard the sound of fabric rustling, skin sliding together, the sounds of a hug, and he flipped the water on as high as it could go. He was done listening, done with the sheriff and his flirtations cleverly disguised as being a good neighbor and friend. The werewolf had caught the scent of attraction from the human, knew what it smelled like when someone wanted to be with someone else, had heard those skips in heartbeats in friends around their crushes or romantic partners. It was way too fucking much to hear and smell it being directed at Melissa, knowing it was coming from someone who wasn't his dad.

Sink filled, Derek focused on the task of washing up, ignoring the footsteps that entered the kitchen, ignoring the bitter scent of aggravation rolling off Melissa as she stopped beside him.

“Would it kill you to be polite?” she spat, arms folded over her chest, hip sticking out as she leveled her hard gaze up at him.

He returned it with a glare of his own, soapy hands holding a half-washed plate over the sink. “Would it kill _you_ to have an _actual family_ dinner like you keep insisting we have?” he snarled in return, his own jaw clenched. “I'm not the only one screwing with the _family dynamic_.” He spoke the last two words in a mocking fashion before turning back to the sink, narrowed eyes staring at the plate he was washing.

Hurt joined her scent, her teeth grinding, but she didn't say a word. Instead,she sighed loud and long, her entire body heaving with the action. Turning on a heel, she shuffled her way out the room with heavy feet, leaving Derek alone with the dishes.

And the tiniest pang of regret at his behavior. Would it really be so bad for his mom to be happy? His dad wasn't coming back, so it only made sense that she might wanna start dating eventually. And, okay, it might've been a little soon, but it wasn't like she and John were actually _dating_. It had been an old friend offering a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear to talk to. And the guy had actually been pretty decent, had put up with Derek's bullshit during dinner and hadn't been intimidated by the Alpha staring him down. Him hanging around, being with Melissa, putting a smile back on her face, it didn't seem like _too_ bad of a thing.

Until Derek remembered the guy's scent and the underlying note that belonged to his family line that came with it.

Fuck.


	6. Looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert excuses about lateness for this chapter which are totally justified but lame and yeah. Sorry* Apologies to George Lucas and the "Star Wars" franchise at large over the terrible WiFi puns. I keep forgetting I'm not funny. Song Credit: "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" by the Smiths.
> 
> Also...Happy Mother's Day! Have some gay werewolves because why not?

Derek woke up at 4:30. And while he was glad it wasn't as early as before and that his body was getting closer to being on the right time, he was still irritated at the sooner than necessary wake up call. He thought of the old belief that it took a day for every hour before you got used to the new time and felt a small amount of relief that he should be on the right wavelength the next day.

He went on his usual two hour run around the neighborhood, showered, and dressed for the day. Afterward, he sat at his desk, setting the wifi up on his laptop, rolling his eyes at the names: ' _HelpMeWifiKenobi_ ', ' _LukeIAmYourWifi_ ', ' _WarningThisIsTheSheriff_ '. He had a feeling he knew who had dubbed all of them.

He spent an hour or so researching places in Beacon Hills to shift during the full moon, repeatedly seeing _The Preserve_ as an option. He looked it up on Google Maps, studied satellite images of it and the city as a whole. And as he made notes of places to check out, he mentally stewed over the fact that he wouldn't have to do any of that if he hadn't been forced to move.

Beating a dead horse probably, but it was still a valid point.

Not in the mood to deal with anyone, he ate breakfast by himself before taking his Camaro out, driving to the Preserve and exploring. The satellite images he'd checked out showed that the forested area was huge, covering several acres of land and that a good majority of it was open to the public. Trekking around brought up the scents of countless other wolves and he struggled to find a place that wasn't as well used. Turning with other wolves was something usually reserved for families or packs and since he didn't have either, he wasn't about to shift with strangers in the off-chance they'd ask him to join.

He wished he had his dad there.

Derek felt a small pang in his chest, soon followed by a grumbling in his stomach. A quick check of his cell phone informed him that it was past two and that he'd been roaming around the forest for nearly five hours. Part of him wanted to keep searching, keep looking for a more secluded area, but he knew it wasn't a possibility, at least not that day. Besides, the full moon wasn't for another week and a half; he had plenty time to look.

Calling it a day, he headed back home. Melissa's car was gone when he arrived, but he still parked alongside the lawn, figuring it was now his designated space. Walking to the front door, he heard three heartbeats inside the house and his mind whirred as he tried to figure out who each one belonged to. There was the slow, slightly sluggish one he now associated with Maria, the steady rhythmic one of Scott, and a faster, more frenetic one that he wasn't as familiar with.

Although judging by the way his wolf's head perked up and its tail started wagging, he had a damn good theory about who it most likely was.

And as he opened the front door and was assaulted by that _scent_ , he mentally winced at the fact that he was right.

Shit.

Part of him wanted to turn around and run, wanted to get back in his Camaro and just grab some lunch from a drive-thru somewhere. It would be a hell of a whole lot easier to just avoid Stiles and his scent and his... _everything_ than to actually go in there and try to hold back, try to deal with it all. But running was cowardice and he wasn't a coward. He was a fucking Alpha and needed to start fucking acting like one.

Stiffening his spine, Derek closed the door behind himself and walked with sure steps toward the kitchen, Scott's voice reaching his ears.

“And her skin is so _soft_ and so nice and so smooth,” he yammered, voice dreamy and distant. It wasn't a tone Derek had ever heard the younger McHale use before and while part of him was curious, the other part just wasn't in the mood to be dragged into whatever teenage revery Scott was currently lost in. “And her hair is so soft, too. And she smells _sooo_ good. I just wanna roll around in it and breathe it in all day every day for the rest of forever.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, slightly annoyed by the younger's musings but more agitated at the fact that he could totally fucking relate. Especially when he inhaled and was hit square in the chest by Stiles' intoxicating aroma.

Fuck.

The two friends were seated at the table, plates of grilled cheese and potato chips in front of them both. Scott was staring off dreamily at the empty chair across from him, most likely imagining whoever the hell it was that he was describing, food seemingly untouched. Stiles, meanwhile, was rolling his own eyes, cheeks puffed out as he took a bigger bite of his sandwich than should be possible.

His wolf rumbled inside his mind, irritated. Something deep down on a more basic level was aggravated at the fact that someone else had provided for Stiles, that someone else had fed his Omega, that someone else was taking care of what was rightfully his to take care of. He knew it was just pure Alpha instincts, that need to make sure those he cared about were all right and safe and fed. More than once he'd seen his dad hand-feeding his mom—something that was especially common after his dad's heats—and knew it was just an ingrained habit from centuries long gone. It was the Alpha's job to take care of his or her mate, to give them everything they could possibly need and/or want, and to keep them one-hundred percent safe and happy.

And someone else was doing Derek's job for him.

Except they weren't really. Because Stiles wasn't Derek's Omega, wasn't Derek's _anything_ really. The two weren't even acquaintances, much less mates, so it wasn't up to the Alpha to do anything for the Omega in any way. Besides, in today's contemporary society, it was more common for an Omega to do whatever they wanted, to supply themselves with their own food or shelter or what-have-you, especially with an Omega from a younger generation. They were more independent thinking, less likely to wanna be coddled or babied by an Alpha. Some were even offended when offered anything by an Alpha, the provided items seen as an insult, a way of calling the Omega weak.

But they were instincts, thoughts that couldn't be shut off, a habit that was as automatic and as unthinking as breathing. Which was the excuse Derek's brain came up with in order to explain why he was so irritated by someone else making food for Stiles. It had nothing to do with the Omega himself and everything to do with the fact that he was an Omega at all.

His wolf snorted. Derek ignored it. It was becoming a habit lately.

“ _Querido_ ,” Maria cut into his thoughts, his head snapping over to where she stood by the stove, flipping another grilled cheese over in a frying pan. “You're just in time to hear your brother mooning over a girl named Allison.”

Scott made an offended noise in the back of his throat that was too high-pitched to be considered masculine. Derek turned his head, eyebrow cocked, watching the younger Alpha flap his mouth open and shut repeatedly.

“I'm not _mooning_ ,” he argued, causing Stiles to scoff.

“Dude,” the Omega snorted, his entire head rocking with the sound. “You totally are.”

Maria turned around, pointing her spatula at her youngest grandson, seriously expression on her face. “ _Mijo_ , English may be my second language, but I still know for a fact that you're mooning.”

“And pining,” Stiles added in with a smirk, shoving more food in his face. It really wasn't the most polite or attractive way to eat but Derek still found his eyes fixated on his mouth, on his full lips, on the way his tongue peeked out to lick up crumbs from the corner of them. His mind automatically provided him with unwanted images of that tongue on his own set of lips, his stubbled jaw, his neck. He imagined his own wet muscle tracing the various moles on Stiles' face, his neck, seeking out more of the marks until he'd licked and sucked and nibbled on every single one all over his body. He perfectly pictured making the Omega fall apart under the ministrations of his tongue, licking his cock, his balls, his hole, driving him to orgasm without touching him with anything else.

“Derek!”

His head snapped to the left at the sound of Maria speaking his name, noticing the way her eyebrows were raised in expectation. He cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, tried to ignore the fact that he was half-hard and his jeans had very little—if any—room for his cock. Out the corner of his eye, he could see the two teenagers at the table staring at him, Scott with his brow furrowed the way it usually did when doing algebra homework, Stiles with his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, and his pupils blown. He ignored them, too.

The way Stiles' scent had gotten stronger with that special spice note, however, had his wolf scratching and clawing to be let out, whining and demanding Derek walk over there and inhale it, rub himself all over the Omega to combine their scents, to make the other male's stronger by arousing him further.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck again.

Dropping his hand, Derek focused solely on Maria, pretending he didn't notice Scott's confused glare or Stiles' obvious arousal, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted one sandwich or two.”

“Oh.”

He heard the sound of Scott snorting, could practically picture the younger Alpha's eyes rolling, soon followed by the crunching of potato chips. Someone's shin was kicked, Stiles', judging by the yelp he let out and the scratching of the chair legs on the floor. More things for Derek to act like he hadn't noticed.

“Two,” he answered, voice rough, clearing his throat again.

Maria nodded slowly once before turning back to the stove, focusing on making lunch.

Derek nodded repeatedly, realizing that he needed to grab a drink. And that Stiles was in the seat closest to the fridge. The seat Derek always used.

Godfuckingdammit.

All right, he could handle this, no big deal. Gritting his teeth, he inhaled once, holding his breath as he marched around the table. He heard the sharp inhale of breath, saw the way Stiles stiffened, his head automatically tilting to the left, exposing his neck. Pausing behind the Omega, Derek thought about how easy it would be to just lean down, to breathe that tempting scent in, to sink his teeth in and mark him so all the world knew the Omega belonged to him.

' _Mine._ '

But he didn't give in, didn't allow instincts or his wolf to dictate his actions. Instead, he clenched his fists, feeling his claws dig into his palms, holding himself back as he turned away and faced the fridge.

“Aaanyway,” Scott began, stretching the first syllable in a way to get his friend's attention. It was a tactic Derek had gotten used to hearing over the past couple years, when the topic of conversation got away from whatever he wanted it to be and Scott tried to shift things back. Chances were Scott could feel the tension in the air as well as Derek could, could smell the arousal—although the elder Alpha wasn't sure if the younger actually knew what it was. It was probably weird as hell for him to be scenting that on his best friend, made him feel awkward.

Derek scented the air quickly, taking apart the various notes and noting a lack of aroused smell from his brother. And while it struck him as a little strange that the Omega's aroma wasn't affecting the younger Alpha the way it was driving him fucking nuts, part of him was relieved. It meant less competition, decreased the chance of a fight breaking out between the brothers. And, yeah, those were rare in recent times, but not entirely nonexistent. After all, they were all still animals deep down inside.

And his animal wanted the Omega at the table.

His mind conjured up images of bending Stiles over said table and driving into him, the Omega clawing at the wood as he begged for release and Derek granting it with a bite to his soft neck.

A thud sounded out as someone's head hit the table and he refused to turn around to check out who had done it, instead opening the fridge and inspecting the contents.

Another shin was kicked, Stiles' again from the sound of the muffled grunt, before Scott continued with his through. “You have no room to talk about anyone mooning _or_ pining,” he declared smugly. “The name 'Lydia' ring any bells?”

Derek felt his entire body tense up, a low growl rumbling from somewhere in his chest. His wolf raised its hackles, teeth bared as it let out a long snarl of its own. He had no clue who the hell Lydia was, but the insinuation that his Stiles had some sort of feelings for her beyond friendship struck a possessive nerve inside of him. He felt the overwhelming urge to track this female down, to slam her against a wall and growl in her face until she couldn't even _think_ about going near Stiles without becoming paralyzed with fear.

The scents of other people on Stiles—including two females, one of whom he was assuming was this Allison girl who had apparently mesmerized Scott—weren't helping ease him or his wolf. Most likely they were just the scents of his packmates, his friends that he was in contact with so much that their smells became ingrained with his, but it still ruffed his fur the wrong way.

He cut the growls off a second or two after they started, as soon as he realized he was doing it and why. 'Course it wasn't quick enough for anyone to not noticed that he'd made the sounds, but he once again acted like nothing was out of the norm.

He was getting damn good at swimming in Da Nile.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he closed the fridge door and stepped over to where Maria was still by the stove, ignoring the sensation of being watched.

“Dude, I'm over Lydia,” Stiles muttered, picking up a potato chip and dropping it back on top of the pile, repeating the action, playing with his food. Derek could almost picture the pout he was undoubtedly wearing and had to fight to remain in place, to not walk over and kiss him until he was smiling again.

Fuck, what was wrong with him?

Scott snorted in disbelief. “ _Suuure_ ,” he stated dubiously, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, you're _totally_ over her and not acting all moody and depressed because of her at _all_.”

The chips were thrown onto the plate, a choked sound coming from the back of the Omega's throat. Derek had to place his bottle on the counter and dig his claws into his palms once again, focusing on the pain to prevent himself from shifting into his hybrid form. His wolf was growling at someone upsetting his Omega, someone arguing with him, and wanted to make sure it wouldn't happen anymore. He had to remind himself that it was just bickering between friends, that it didn't mean anything, that there was no reason to get involved. It would just bring more unwanted attention and more confused looks his way.

Better to just remain silent and in the background and let the two idiots at the table deal with their bullshit.

“I'm not acting like that,” Stiles argued, heart skipping a beat on the lie.

“Yes, you are,” Scott argued right back, taking a bite of his grilled cheese. “Just admit it.”

Derek had no idea who the hell raised that guy sometimes, because Melissa and Andrew McHale didn't bring anyone up to talk with their mouth full.

“Only if you admit that you're mooning over Allison.”

Things got really silent after that and the elder Alpha had to stifle a laugh, corner of his lips twitching up in a proud smirk at the Omega getting the best of the younger Alpha.

A plate was held out in front of him, two grilled cheese sandwiches sitting on top, a huge pile of regular potato chips stacked next to them. Grabbing his bottle, he took hold of the plate and muttered a thanks, nodding at Maria in acknowledgment. The motion was returned, a smile and a wink added in.

Derek refused to think about the meaning behind that final action, deciding it wasn't worth wasting the brain energy. Instead, he just turned around, doing his best to avoid looking at the table, striding towards the kitchen exit.

Only he never made it.

“Hey, Der!”

His feet stopped on their own three steps from the archway that led to the living room, his entire being freezing in place. His body was no longer under his control as he spun around on a heel to face the Omega who'd called for his attention, instincts telling him to do anything and everything the younger male wanted him to do, no matter what it was or whether or not he wanted to do it himself.

And he most definitely hadn't wanted to see the hopeful expression on Stiles' face, the easygoing grin, the sparkle in whiskey colored eyes. His scent was light and airy with the slightest hint of apprehension, as though he was afraid of some sort of negative reaction to what he was about to say.

“Me and Scott were about to play 'C.O.D.',” he stated, the carefree manner of his smirk leaking into his tone. “Wanna join?”

Scott's head snapped to his friend, eyes wide, jaw tense as he silently conveyed what a terrible idea that was and was he out of his fucking mind?

Derek was inclined to agree, cocking an eyebrow in a wordless “are you serious?” manner. “No,” he replied curtly, brokering no argument.

Which, for whatever reason, translated into Stiles trying to argue with him anyway. “You sure? Cause we—”

“I said 'no', Stiles,” he snapped, growl leaking into his voice. “Let it go.”

The Omega snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard against the force of the Alpha's words, head tilting to the left again. Derek once again fought the urge to walk over and ease him, to do something to fix the hurt he'd caused and make sure it didn't happen again.

Conversation over, he turned around and successfully managed to leave the kitchen, hearing Scott muttering to Stiles.

“Dude, I keep telling you my bro's a douchebag. When are you gonna get that?”

“Jackson's a douchebag, too, but he still hangs with us,” the Omega argued in the same murmured tone. “I just thought maybe Derek would wanna join us for once.”

“Why would you think _that_?” Scott's voice was as confused as ever, a slight hint of disgust joining it, as Derek paused on the stairs, wondering the same thing.

Stiles let out a sigh, the sound heavy and full of so much emotion it was a wonder it was able to leave so easily. “I dunno, man. Let's just finish lunch and forget I said anything, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Derek felt his wolf lay on its belly, head on its paws as it let out a sad whimper. Disappointment weighed him down, making his steps heavy as he continued on his way up the stairs and down the hall. The need to go to Stiles and hold him until that sad tone left his voice and scent was nearly crippling. So was the guilt as he realized he was a major reason why it was there in the first place.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like his own personal brand of Hell.

Okay, maybe not, but still. It was fucking torturous.

Because Stiles' voice carried really fucking well and he was loud as fuck and fuck, his _laugh_. Just every sound he made seemed to be amplified, floating up to the attic despite the closed door, ramming into Derek's ears and catching his full attention, regardless of how much he tried to block it out.

And of fucking course his iPod was dead.

And of fucking course his laptop wasn't cooperating and everything he tried to play paused and that stupid ' _Not Responding_ ' spinning blue circle was mocking him, he just fucking knew it was.

“Call of Duty” apparently couldn't be played quietly. Sure the actual game itself was at a reasonable volume, but the two teenagers playing it weren't. There were loud insults, smack talk, countless “dude, what the fuck?!”s and endless “stop fuckin' shooting me, dickhead!”s. Scott, apparently, needed to get his head out his ass, while Stiles needed to hop off Scott's dick.

Which was a mental image that had Derek growling and damn near breaking another plate.

Once the dishware was safely deposited on the desk and out of his clawed reach, he paced his half of the attic, roughly rubbing at his face as he tried desperately to get rid of the image Scott's unfortunate phrasing had conjured up. But that only resulted in a replacement vision of Stiles on _Derek's_ dick, those full lips stretched around it, that obscene tongue licking the hard length, his wet hole squeezing around it as he rode the Alpha, head bent back and baring his throat so he could be marked for all the world to see.

Yeah. Tortured.

Clearly Derek needed a distraction, needed something else to focus on. Working on finding a new place to shift was just a different kind of frustration and given his current aggravation at his laptop, it was probably best to stay away from the device. There was no way he could concentrate on reading, not with the x-rated images plaguing his mind, and he'd already tried to read the same chapter five times. He needed a breather before attempt number six.

His pacing brought him to his bureau, to the box of books sitting to the side, reminding him he'd yet to really find a place for them. Seemed like a pretty good distraction really, hunting down some sorta furniture piece to put his books in.

With a shrug and a mental “fuck it”, he turned and walked over to the other side of the attic, stepping around boxes and lamps, trunks and dress forms, nose wrinkling at the scents of dust and old things. He flipped back a dropcloth, causing dust to fly into the air and make him sneeze.

The “gesundheit” from Stiles seemed louder than before, but Derek figured it was just because the Omega was projecting his voice more in order to be heard better.

Didn't explain why he heard Scott's snort so much easier, but he shoved that aside.

The dropcloth had been covering an old end table, not something Derek needed, so he covered it back up, continuing on his search. He carefully made his way around various objects and furniture pieces, moving soundlessly on the hardwood floor. He peeked under various dropcloths, behind countless boxes, around old paintings and artwork.

Nothing.

Pausing at the other side of the junk, he stared at it, hands on his hips, trying to figure out what his next move would be. That was when he heard the voices of the two teenagers again.

“Dude, you're totally lying about not being hung up on Lydia.” It was Scott, his insistent voice louder than it had been before.

Derek stared at the wood planks between his boot covered feet, head tilted to the side to help focus his hearing, brow furrowed in concentration.

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles mocked before his tone became more serious. “No, I'm not.”

The sounds of gunfire on a TV reached the Alpha's ears and it didn't take him long to realize that he was standing directly above Scott's room.

There was a pause in the convo between the younger two werewolves before Scott started it back up. “Okay, fine,but you're still totally hung up on someone. You're totally _mooning_.”

Derek knew he should leave, should walk away, should quit eavesdropping. The discussion had nothing to do with him, he had absolutely zero part in it, so there was no reason for him to keep listening the way he was.

“Whatever you say, Scotty,” Stiles sated his friend, tone defeated and worn down, like he was saying it just to have the topic be dropped so he wouldn't have to talk about it any more.

The kid clearly didn't know Scott as well as he thought he did.

“That's not a 'no'.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that, head see-sawing as he mentally gave points to the younger Alpha on a point well made.

The conversation paused for a long moment, the sounds of the video game ending as someone—most likely Scott—paused it. The elder Alpha waited, his own breathing stopped, anticipating the Omega's response. He waited for an argument, a denial, a game-related sound effect. He waited for the truth, wondering if he'd be able to tell if it was a lie with the floor between himself and the two boys in the middle of a discussion. He waited with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Stiles would admit to Scott that he had feelings for Derek, that Derek was the one he was _mooning_ over.

He quickly shoved that thought down as soon as it surfaced, knowing it was stupid to hope for that. Besides, he didn't even _want_ that. He wanted Stiles gone. Forever. Never to come back and tease Derek with his scent and his lips and his... his _everything_

He wanted to actually get what he wanted for the first time ever, hating how he felt like that Smiths song.

“ _Please, please, please, let me get what I want. Lord knows it would be the first time,_ ” his mind supplied, the tune now stuck in his head.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“All right,” Stiles' voice cut into the song, so low that Derek wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it so much as made it up. “Yeah, I admit I'm hung up on somebody,” he added louder. “Can we get back to the game now?”

“No,” Scott answered curtly, the sound of plastic on hardwood floors soon following, most likely him tossing his controller across the room. “Who is it?”

Derek felt his back hit the wall, sliding down into a crouching position, head tilted so his ear was closer. There was no way he was missing this, his wolf silent and listening, too. He mentally damned his curiosity, hated himself for setting himself up for disappointment. Shit never worked out well for him and this was gonna be another one of those things, he just knew it.

“No one you know.”

The Alpha felt his chest get tight and his heart fuck up its rhythm. No one Scott knew, meaning there was no chance it was his older brother, no chance it was Derek.

He should've fucking known really. All of Stiles' reactions, his going limp when pinned by Derek, his arousal, it was solely due to the fact that Derek was an Alpha, an _adult_ one, fully matured and capable of taking care of an Omega. It was just nature making the teenager behave that way, not any sort of feelings or desires towards the elder guy himself.

His heart faltered again, sinking down lower than it had been, a wave of disappointment and sadness washing over him and threatening to drown him.

Derek forced himself to his feet, striding through all the junk, back the way he came. He was being a fucking idiot, actually getting upset. It was so fucking stupid of him to react that way. Stiles not being into him was what he wanted, his end goal when it came to his own behavior towards the Omega. And hadn't he been convincing himself that all of Stiles' reactions were solely because of their genetic make-ups, that it was just instinctual for them to feel any sort of attraction. Derek didn't want Stiles because of Stiles; he wanted him because of his slick ass and sweet scent and unyielding nature. Sure, he could have a relationship with a Beta—and had in the past—and sometimes ones between two Alphas could work—although he wasn't entirely sure if he and Kate fell into that category—but he was designed to wanna be with an Omega, to actually be with one. And Omegas were created to help temper Alphas, to be able to take the more animalistic natures of them, the rough and unrelenting way they behaved—especially during heats. Derek hadn't really wanted Stiles, he'd just wanted someone to handle him.

The words felt like a lie to himself and he ignored the dull ache in the center of his chest, forcing himself to focus on his previous task.

Which had been...

Fuck, what the hell had he been doing?

He stood on his side of the attic, hands on his hips as he scanned his surroundings. The boxes by the bureau. Books. He'd been looking for bookshelves.

He suddenly remembered that Maria had mentioned having more things in the basement and he figured it wouldn't hurt to check it out. Would certainly help him get away from the discussion he could still dully hear happening a floor below him.

Mind made up, Derek made his way down towards the basement in fast strides, ignoring his wolf and its pitiful cries to go in Scott's room. It clearly wanted him to talk to Stiles, to see if he'd been honest when he said the younger Alpha didn't know who he had feelings for, to find out if he was just lying because he didn't wanna admit he had a thing for his best friend's older brother.

His older brother that his best friend kept insisting was a douchebag.

Even if Stiles _had_ lied, Derek couldn't blame him. Derek probably would've given Scott shit if he found out he had a thing for someone with an asshole complex back in New York. As it was, the younger Alpha had a thing for some chick Derek didn't know and had no interest in discovering if she was some sorta female version of douchebag.

Whatever. Shit was getting confusing and complicated and seriously, why the fuck did they have to leave New York? Yeah, things weren't all that great with Kate, but at least he knew where he stood with her.

Not that he cared about where he stood with Stiles or anything.

There he was swimming in Da Nile again.

He shoved every thought aside, concentrating solely on the task of finding bookshelves, opening the door to the basement located under the main staircase. The light switch was on the wall just inside and he flipped it on, making his way down creaky wooden stairs.

The basement was a stereotype in damn near every way. Dark gray cement blocks made up the walls, dust and spiderwebs littering the place and making him sneeze. Two light bulbs hung from the ceiling on thick wires, dirt marks on the glass, humming lowly to his werewolf hearing. Various items were piled to the back, scattered pieces of furniture that were stored and forgotten, stashed away unused and unwanted.

Derek's eyes roamed the large open space, pausing on strange shapes to the far right. Stepping over, he got a closer look, seeing two large rings attached to the wall with heavy bolts, a few chain links still attached to one.

His eyebrows raised in surprise at that before they dropped in a confused frown. Funny really. Why would a woman who had a thing against werewolves have places to chain them up?

Then again, did he really even want to know the answer to that? Probably not.

He grabbed hold of one, yanking it hard a few times, the ring remaining steadfast despite its age. He halfway considered using them during the full moon only to dismiss the idea. Chances were Maria would enjoy that too much, or would even veto that plan, fearing for the safety of her disposed junk.

Seemed like the Preserve was still his only option.

He could worry about that another day. At the moment he needed to focus again—and learn how to not be so easily sidetracked—and find what he'd come down to the basement for. The sooner he got out all that dust the better.

A sneeze left him at just the thought of the old dirt covering everything, another “gesundheit” sounding out, this time at the door behind him.

Derek quickly spun on a heel, claws automatically sliding out in a defensive move. But the subconscious action wasn't necessary since the word hadn't been spoken by an invader, but by Stiles again.

Although really, he pondered, was Stiles _not_ an invader of sorts?

Mental debate for another day, he decided, sheathing his claws and straightening from the defensive crouch he'd been in. “What do you two want?” he demanded gruffly, turning back the way he'd been facing and stepping over to the pile of junk on the far side of the basement. Countless items were stacked up, from desks to chairs to end tables and Derek wondered what furniture store Maria had been trying to run given all the items she possessed.

“Mom's at a job interview,” Scott replied while slapping his feet down the steps, scent bitter, most likely at his brother's attitude towards him. “Abuela's at a bridge club, whatever that is.”

Derek turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. Did he seriously not know what that meant?

“I tried explaining it to him,” Stiles supplied, following Scott down the stairs and stepping to the side, arms folded over his chest in a casual manner. “But apparently he can't quite grasp the concept of 'it's a card game'.”

“No, I understand that,” the younger Alpha argued, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I just don't understand how to _play_.”

“That's 'cause you're not an eighty year old woman.” He clapped a hand on his best friend's shoulder, giving him a sympathetic smile that silently told him not to worry about it.

Scott's eyebrows bobbed in a way to push the conversation aside and end the topic, going back to the original subject. “Anyway, Mom left us money for pizza and I was just about to order.”

“Meat lovers,” Derek stated without prompting, turning fully to the two teenagers.

“Dude, do you have any idea what that shit does to your heart?” Stiles gaped at him, arms dropping to his sides. His scent changed to a more concerned one, eyes wide as though he couldn't believe Derek would harm himself through meat and meat byproducts.

Which really...

“Werewolf,” was the Alpha's only argument.

“Okay, but—”

He ignored whatever the hell kinda bullshit Stiles was about to spout off, switching his attention to the other teenager. “Meat lovers.”

Scott shrugged in a carefree manner, not putting up an argument. Then again, it happened to be his favorite, too, so it wasn't like he was gonna go against his brother's choice. Although Derek wouldn't have been surprised if he had, if for no other reason than to just be spiteful.

But Scott was too nice to pull any of that shit, simply stating he was off to order before bounding up the stairs.

Leaving Derek with Stiles.

Who wasn't leaving.

What the fuck?

Derek folded his arms over his chest, glowering at the other male, muscle beneath his scruff-covered jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth. “Why are you here?”

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging much like Scott previously had, small happy-go-lucky smirk on his face. “Came to tell you 'bout the pizza thing.”

“And you did,” the Alpha pointed out tersely, head motioning to the stairs. “Now go.”

“Nah. I think I'll stay and keep you company.” The smirk grew, brown eyes sparkling in delight and Derek fought to not convince himself that his heart wasn't thumping just a little faster at the belief that he was the one making Stiles' face light up like that.

Because he wasn't the reason for that look. And he sure as fuck wouldn't be happy if that was the truth.

“I don't need company,” he grouched before turning away and inspecting the furniture junk pile, looking around for a bookshelf. There was no way Maria could have all that crap and not have shelves. It was impossible.

“I think you do.”

“I think you need your brain checked.”

“I think you aren't the first person to tell me that.”

Derek glared over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the shit-eating grin Stiles was sporting. Ignorance really _had_ to be bliss.

“So,” the Omega began, meandering his way closer. “Why are _you_ down here?”

Turning away for the thousandth time, the Alpha answered absently, more focused on the task at hand. “Looking for bookshelves.”

“I'll help.”

“No thanks.”

“Well fuck you, 'cause I'm doing it anyway.”

Derek's head snapped over, seeing Stiles on his left a few feet away, looking through the pile much like the elder male had been. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, shocked that an Omega had stood up to an Alpha that way, knowing that stereotypes had Omegas behaving meekly and automatically following an Alpha's commands.

Not that Derek had _commanded_ Stiles to not help him, but still. It wasn't like an Omega to say “fuck you” to an Alpha as a response to... well, to anything really.

“If this is some sorta anti-Omega bullshit, you can go fuck yourself.”

It took Derek a moment to realize Stiles had spoken and what exactly he'd said. He shook his head to snap out of it, letting the words sink in before his brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“Not letting me help,” the younger male clarified, shoving a chair up to check behind it. “Just 'cause I'm an Omega doesn't mean I can't lift heavy shit or that I'm a frail li'l porcelain doll who needs protecting in case something falls on me.”

“I never said you were.” The words quietly slipped out before the Alpha could even think, wondering where the rant had come from.

Stiles turned to him, arms folded, eyes narrowed in a glare. His scent had a sharp bite to it, anger tainting the usual sweet notes it held. “Then why don't you want me helping?”

Derek mimicked his aggressive body language, meeting him glare for glare. “Because I don't want you around.”

His wolf howled in anger, clawing at him in a demand to take it back, take it all back. Because they both knew it wasn't true, both knew that Derek wanted Stiles around always. Preferably naked and in his bed, moaning and writhing beneath his larger frame, covered in Derek's scent and sweat and come.

Which was something he needed to not think about.

“Bullshit,” Stiles argued, clearing the raspiness from his throat, scent shifting to something sweeter and more potent. The anger was still there, but was joined soon by arousal.

Definitely didn't help temper the Alpha's own desires, but he _was_ able to prevent himself from doing anything about it.

Maybe. He was pretty sure. He hoped anyway.

Derek resorted to his default reaction: rolling his eyes. He turned away from the Omega, pretended like he hadn't just been called on his shit, like the younger man hadn't been right. It was easier than facing the truth, than actually admitting to himself that he liked having Stiles around, liked his incessant chatter and how he talked with his whole body, liked his scent and the reactions it caused in his own body, liked his pale skin and his moles and his brown eyes.

Shit. He _liked_ Stiles. And that was a major fucking problem.

“Well, it's a good thing I decided to stay and help you anyway,” the younger man started, smugness clear in his voice and his scent. “'Cause I just found a set of shelves.”

Derek marched over, grabbing hold of Stiles' shoulder and pulling him out the way so he could get a better look. And sure enough, behind a large desk, was a set of pine shelves that would work perfectly for what he needed.

“You're welcome,” the Omega commented sarcastically, getting a grunt in response.

“Move back,” the Alpha ordered, dropping his hand from the other male's shoulder, barely even aware that he'd been holding onto him until he felt the cool air hit his palm.

Stiles folded his arms over his chest, the angry note returning to his scent as he geared himself up for another argument. “Look, Alpha Asshole, just because—”

Derek turned and glared, eyes flashing red. “ _Move_ ”

The teenager got the hint, hands held out to the side in surrender as he moved several steps back and to the side, head tilted towards the left again. With him out the way, Derek was able to grab hold of the desk and lift it, removing it from his pathway and setting it against the side wall.

Stiles' scent spiked once again, that sweet, citrusy, spicy scent that was all him, that note of arousal thick as it weaved around the usual smells that the Omega emitted. His breath hitched, lips parting as his jaw hung loose, a high-pitched noise squeaking out his throat.

“You just—you— _fuck_.” He stumbled over his words, shoving a hand through his spiked brown hair. “You just lifted that all by yourself.”

Derek just gave him a hard look, wondering why it was so hard to believe. _Alpha werewolf_ was explanation enough really.

“Jesus,” the younger male breathed out, tongue wetting his lips, pupils blown. His desire was as obvious as the moles on his cheeks and the cheesy joke on his graphic tee, a visual representation of the thoughts racing through his head. The elder male didn't lower his gaze any further than the teen's heaving chest and pounding heart, but he had a feeling he'd find a prominent bulge on the front of his jeans.

His wolf was losing its everloving mind, pacing about restlessly, scratching to get out, howling out demands. But Derek refused to cave, refused to give into his animal instincts, the human-half of him remembering the conversation he'd overheard. The one about Stiles having feelings for someone else.

Someone who wasn't Derek.

Meaning any arousal Stiles was feeling was solely due to genetics. Just like all the other times.

“You should leave,” the Alpha suggested in a gruff tone, striding back to the furniture pile and putting his back to the other occupant in the basement.

“Wha—why? I thought—”

“Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong,” he interrupted, trying to figure out how best to grab the shelves in order to get them out without knocking anything else down or breaking the shelves themselves. “And whatever you think you're feeling, you aren't. Not really.”

The anger was back and Derek wondered if this was how things would be between them, the Omega's scent constantly fluctuating back and forth between outrage and desire.

Then he wondered why he was actually wondering about that and why he wasn't actually hoping to never have to deal with constantly changing aromas because the little shit wouldn't be around to be smelled in the first place.

Stiles glared with a tense jaw, foot tapping on the ground, fingers drumming on a folded arm. “Fuck you for thinking you know how I feel.”

“No, I _know_ how you feel,” Derek corrected, pleased at himself for keeping his voice level and not giving away the shakiness he was feeling inside or the tension he was feeling in fighting to keep himself in place and not just mount the younger male right then and there. “You think you're attracted to me, but you're not. It's just your basic instincts telling you there's a mature Alpha in the room and that you need to spread your legs like a good little Omega.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head vehemently. “Not true.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me: what was Lydia? Another Omega like you? Maybe a beta? Or was she an Alpha like me?”

The teenager turned his head away, eyes darting around the room but never looking at the older man standing across from him. The angry note in his scent kicked up a notch and Derek knew he'd made a good point. Not that he himself fully believed what he'd said, but it didn't matter. He just needed Stiles to believe it and think it was the truth. Because if he did, he'd get over his attraction and stay away from the Alpha, allowing him to carry on in peace with his new-found desire to not form attachments.

His wolf fucking _hated_ him in that moment.

“What's going on?” Scott questioned, pausing three steps down, eyes flicking back and forth between his best friend and his brother. His own curious scent joined the mix in the basement, joined the anger and humiliation and desire and dust and wood and Derek couldn't breathe anymore. His chest was too tight and his lungs too weak and he needed to get away from the Omega before he fully drowned.

But he didn't move, didn't say a word, just simply kept his narrowed eyes focused on the teenager across from him, daring him to say something.

Stiles scoffed, shaking his head before scuffing his way over to the stairs. “You were right, Scotty,” he started as he began his ascent. “Your brother really is a douchebag.”

The two of them disappeared, but not before they both glared at the older male.

Not before Derek's wolf howled longer and more pitifully than it ever had.


	7. School.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so, guess this is the part where I put apologies for the delay on this chapter... Sorry... It's been done for a while, I just didn't really have the time to post it until now. Any and all free time has been going towards two big bangs and an exchange fic (hysterical laughter as I descend into madness) so this fic was put on the back burner since there's no real deadline on it or anything. Whoops. Sorry. And while I'm apologizing, sorry for the delay on the next chapter. No clue when it'll be written. Sorry. Again.

The next few days passed by without incident.

Derek managed to get the bookshelves up to his attic room alone, his books arranged neatly. He spent practically all his time by himself, either researching places to shift or colleges back east, reading every now and then when his eyes were tired of the laptop screen.

Scott was hardly ever home, spending more time over at Stiles' house—judging by the scent he always wore when he came home—or with his new group of friends, becoming more and more dopey each time he was around Allison. Who he never shut up about. Ever. He also continued constantly glaring at his older brother, his own attitude towards the other Alpha becoming frostier than ever. The two barely exchanged words and more than once Derek had heard a muttered “fucking asshole” whenever he left a room Scott was in. Derek just let it roll off his back, ignoring the sharp spice of anger and indignation that accompanied Scott's scent more often.

Melissa got a job at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital in the ER, a position much like her old one back in New York. She was also back to the irregular schedule, sometimes being gone for over a day with only a mass text saying she was sleeping there as a sign she was alive and okay. Her time off was spent sleeping or eating, going out with old high school friends once on a group lunch. Derek hadn't liked the hint of Stilinski's scent on her clothes when she came back, but knew there wasn't really anything he could do about it. Not without getting himself into further shit anyway.

Maria also kept to herself a lot, going out to bridge club or bingo nights, tending to the gardens she had out back and in the front yard. She'd recruited Derek's help several times, using him to help cut down tree limbs that had gotten too low, to trim hedges that had grown too high, having him mow the lawn and trim the edges with the weed-whacker. She never spoke to him though, simply hummed along with the Spanish language station she played on the radio she'd set on the back deck or front steps, depending on where she was working that day.

And Stiles? Well, Derek just flat out hadn't seen the guy since he'd given him shit in the basement a few days prior. The Alpha would catch a hint of his scent when taking out the trash, thought he smelled a stronger version of it along with that aroused note while mowing, but whenever he looked, the Omega was nowhere to be seen.

Derek had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

Because not seeing Stiles had been exactly what he'd wanted. He'd wanted the little shit gone, out of his hair—and his nose—no longer tormenting him or torturing him with possibilities of what he could have if he'd just let someone in, just form an attachment to someone of some sort.

But his wolf was hating it. It missed that sweet scent, the sugary smell that made him high and giddy and tingly all over. It missed those whiskey eyes that were countless different shades of brown and gold all swirled together. It missed that smooth expanse of pale skin dotted by random moles and freckles. It missed that voice that somehow managed to be smooth yet harsh at the same time and managed to calm him. It missed Stiles.

And the human side of him did, too.

Yet he refused to give in, refused to go to the Stilinskis' to see or touch or smell or have anything to do with Stiles. But shit, was it hard. Because he passed that house several times every morning on his runs, and without fail, on his final cool down lap, he'd stop at the end of their path and fight the urge to walk up it, to knock on that door, to apologize to the Omega for being a dick and a douche and whatever else he'd been called behind his back, and please, just forgive him, he needed Stiles in his life.

Not happening.

He was refusing.

And so far, he was winning.

If having a miserable, morose, whining, howling, agitated wolf constantly clawing at his insides and driving him insane was winning. Yep, total champ right there.

Fuck his life.

The first day of school seemed to sneak up outta nowhere, despite Melissa's constant reminders that it was coming up soon and the fact that she literally dumped a box of random school supplies on Derek's bed two days before the actual date. She didn't even wait for any sort of acknowledgment or thank you, simply emptied the contents then walked off. Derek figured he should just be grateful she even remembered to get the shit, only to remember that it didn't matter how he felt about her, she was still his mother and was still going to act as such.

Hence him still being on dish duty and trash duty and “I don't care what you're reading or researching or whatever, just go help your abuela in the yard and quit complaining” duty.

Whatever. At least it wasn't dusting. The spray polish irritated his nose terribly.

Derek went through his usual morning routine: up at five-thirty, morning run, then shower, before shoving a couple notebooks and some pens in his backpack. If he needed anything else, he'd just bring it the next day. For the time being, that would suffice.

Melissa was there for breakfast, Scott scarfing down his cereal while she sat quietly drinking her coffee in a set of purple scrubs, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. Conversation was non-existent, save for her announcing she was headed to work after they left and most likely wouldn't be home when they returned from school, and Scott declaring he had a ride to and from and that more than likely, he'd be hanging out with friends elsewhere. He'd glared at his older brother on the last word but Derek refused to respond, simply keeping his eyes and his focus on his own breakfast.

Derek arrived at school earlier than he'd normally need to, knowing he had to meet with the guidance counselor. Countless heads had turned when he'd parked his Camaro, curious whispers washing over him like the wind as gossip ran rampant, questions as to who he was, where he'd come from, why he was in Beacon Hills and not half-naked in an underwear ad on a Times Square billboard.

He'd admittedly frowned at that, thinking it was a bit excessive. Objectively he could admit he was attractive, but not to that degree. And certainly not to the point where the hints of aroused scents seemed to hit his nose as he walked through the halls towards his destination made any sort of sense to him.

Miss Morell's office was as stereotypical as he could imagine, a single desk she sat behind, two chairs in front, countless motivational posters scattered on white brick walls. A tall bookshelf was located to the right of her, filled with countless books on psychology, child psychology, adolescent psychology, case studies for this disorder and that affliction, behavioral patterns and studies and guidelines, along with random wolf-centric statuettes.

He refused to think about the inkblot test cards he caught sight of on the corner of her desk. Hopefully he'd never have to suffer through her holding them up and asking him what he saw. He wouldn't be able to handle the look she'd give him when he told her they all looked like bloodstains, either on Melissa's scrubs or at the scene of a murder.

Or a car wreck.

Not that he thought Morell's face was capable of holding any sort of expression other than impassive boredom. It was his second time seeing her and her features were still arranged in the same flat way they had been the first time he'd sat down in that room, in that very same chair.

Her skin was the same light brown tone as before, like coffee with too much creamer, her long black hair stick straight once again. Full lips covered in nude colored gloss, brown eyes appearing free of any make-up, although a slight hint of a powdery scent meant she was wearing something. Her frame was covered in red silk, hands folded neatly on top of the desk as she kept her steady gaze on him, not offering any clue as to what she was thinking through facial expression or scent. Just a mild twitch of a manicured eyebrow that possibly could've been imagined when he finished reading what she'd given him.

His new class schedule.

Folding the sheet of paper, he let it settle on his lap, keeping his own features flat as he met her steely gaze with one of his own. She leaned forward over her desk, voice steady and with a soothing timber that suited her profession.

“Any questions?”

Derek wanted to say “no” and just get the fuck outta there, but unfortunately for him, it wasn't possible. Not when there was a huge glaring abnormality in his list of classes.

“Why do I have two lit courses?” he inquired, trying to keep his own tone even and steady and not make it seem as though he was demanding or ungrateful, but still not allowing any amount of joy or positivity to leak in.

Mostly because he wasn't feeling any of it. Really, the only good thing about the first day of school meant there was now only a hundred and seventy-nine more to go before he graduated and was out of Beacon Hills.

“Your old school in New York didn't offer Shakespearean Lit, which is what seniors here at BHL take,” she explained in the same placid tone she always used. “And while seniors back at Queens Alpha-Beta Lyncanthropic are taking American Lit, our juniors take that course. Both are required for graduation, so you need to take both this year, taking away your free period.”

Derek nodded, staring down at his schedule, barely seeing the black text printed on white paper. He honestly didn't mind losing a free period, not when he didn't really know anyone to shoot the shit with or have anywhere to go. A free hour would just result in him being bored. Plus two lit courses wasn't too bad. He happened to like lit and reading—as much as Kate made fun of him over it, calling him a bookworm dork and laughing whenever she caught him reading for fun. Dealing with two hours of that subject was no biggie to him. Two hours of math or science on the other hand...

“Any other issues?” Morell prompted, managing to sound concerned and wholly disinterested at the same time.

He shook his head, folding up the schedule and map he'd been given and shoving both in the pocket of his jeans. “Can I go now?” he questioned, grabbing a strap of his backpack as it sat on the ground between his splayed legs.

The guidance counselor sat back, pressing her lips into a hard line while nodding. “Just know that if you ever need to talk about anything, whether it's school or about your dad, my door is always open and my ears always listening.”

The Alpha clenched his fist around his strap, stiffly rising to his feet. The mention of his dad had come completely unprompted and was totally unappreciated, especially from a stranger. His father's death was a sacred thing that should remain untouched by everyone, never to be discussed. Hell, it wasn't even mentioned in his own house anymore. This random person having the balls to bring him up like that rubbed Derek's fur the wrong way and he found his eyes narrowing at her.

His thankfully still human eyes.

“I don't wanna talk,” he gritted out. “About anything.”

Morell simply kept her eyes locked on him, looking completely unphased. If she noticed his trembling from trying to keep control of his emotions and rein in his wolf, she didn't show it, features as flat as always. “If you ever change your mind—” she spoke, ending the statement there, allowing him to fill in the rest from her previous offer.

“I won't,” he responded tersely, leaving the room without another word. Having already memorized the map and his schedule, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way across campus to his first period World History class, ready to just get the day over and done with.

Hundred seventy-nine to go.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Because the universe wasn't done making Derek its bitch, his first two classes were on complete opposite sides of the school. On different floors. So he narrowly made it to his Calculus class before the bell rang, which led to a false sense of things looking up for him.

Which, really, he should've known better.

Because luck decided to shit on him once again by leaving him only one available desk.

Right behind Stiles.

Derek stood in the doorway staring at the Omega, who was busy leaning over and chatting with a redheaded female who was rolling green eyes and pursing painted pink lips at whatever he was yammering about at that moment. Shock had the Alpha rooted to the spot, his eyes wide, brows raised as he took in the male he hadn't seen for nearly a week, his scent overruling all those of the other students in the room. Stiles was there. He was really there. In all his pale skinned, tawny haired, mole dotted, sweet smelling glory.

His wolf started barking, clawing, demanding Derek walk right over and claim him in front of everyone, that he scent-mark him and bite him and stake his claim right then and there, making sure every other wolf at that school knew who the Omega belonged to.

Although now that he thought about it...

What the hell was an Omega doing at a school full of Alphas and Betas?

A throat was angrily cleared beside him and he snapped out of it, seeing an olive-toned female with straight black hair standing there, arms folded over her dark blue blouse, tight black jeans completing the look. Miss Kali, if he remembered his schedule right.

“Mind taking a seat so I can start class?” she inquired with a raised eyebrow, dark eyes daring him to object, like she wanted nothing more than to put this punk kid in his place with an audience watching her do it.

Clearly an Alpha then.

Derek just grit his jaw, nodding tightly once, before making his way down the side of the classroom and across three rows, to the lone available seat in the very back. Stiles tensed up with his every step, turning to face the front of the room, the redhead he'd been chatting with glancing back and forth between him and Derek with inquisitive eyes and lips twisted in thought. Kate had a friend back in New York who frequently wore a similar look, almost always followed by her digging into someone's business to figure out if her theories regarding their behavior was correct.

Meaning this redhead was gonna badger Stiles after class to try and see why the Omega had gotten so quiet and still upon the Alpha's approach.

Derek mentally snorted. Good luck with that.

Slumping down with a huff, he allowed his backpack to slip off his shoulder and fall onto the floor just as the teacher turned and wrote on the chalkboard, black painted claws on full display. Derek grabbed a pencil and notebook to copy down what she was telling them, barely able to focus, mostly unaware of anything that wasn't Stiles sitting directly in front of him. Everything about the kid was distracting, from the way his leg was shaking under the desk, to the moles on the back of his neck, to the scent wafting off him as he leaned back in his chair.

Derek smeared a hand over his face, trying to rein in his wolf, trying to tamp down the animal's reactions to the object of its affections being _right there_. It wasn't what he needed, not on the first day of school, not on _any_ day of school. Yet it was happening anyway, Stiles removing his flannel overshirt and fanning his scent towards the Alpha even more.

His wolf really lost its shit at that, forcing Derek to crank his hand down around the edge of the desk, nearly splitting his pencil in two as his fingers tightened into a white knuckled fist. He focused on his breathing, inhaling that sugary sweet smell with each breath. He thought about his anchor, only to realize he didn't have it anymore.

In a somewhat risky move, he released his hold on the desk and curled his fingers into another fist, extending his claws and digging them into his palms. The pain helped to center him and cleared his head, allowing him to focus on something other than the Omega taunting him directing in front.

And with a clear head, he was more aware of everything else happening in the classroom: the gentle scrape of the chalk on the board, the low hum of the A/C unit, the rustle of papers and scratches of pencils.

The feeling of being stared at.

His eyes flicked to the redhead Stiles had been talking to, finding her completely absorbed in the lesson, nude heel hanging off the toes of a crossed leg. Surreptitiously, he peeked to his right, discovering a curvy female with big blonde curls glancing at him out the side of her black-lined eyes. Her pencil frequently found its way between her painted red lips, eraser chewed on thoughtfully as she seemed to analyze him.

Right. Because he didn't have enough to deal with in that class, he now had to add creepy possible stalker to his list of shit.

Sighing to himself, Derek slumped further in his seat, realizing his school year had just gotten even longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Third period Shakespearean Lit proved to be the kind of uneventful bullshit Derek needed after his Calc class, the only things standing out being the summer reading list he hadn't been given and the fact that his teacher—a guy who insisted be called just “Ennis”—looked like he belonged on a defensive line in the NFL.

Fourth period was an art class he signed up for in order to get an easy A, already having enough foreign language credits in order to graduate. Plus they didn't offer Italian like his school in New York so he figured he'd doodle for an hour or so. The redhead from his Calc class was in there, this time chatting with a brunette with pale skin and dimples straight out of a Disney princess flick. And, also like his second period, he was stared at by another student, this time by a curly haired guy with angelic features that put him in the same movie as the brunette.

Lunch was a free for all, the entire school filling the cafeteria at the same time. Derek grabbed a couple slices of pizza before making his way to an empty table, putting his backpack on the chair next to him before anyone got the idea to do some stupid like sit next to him. He managed to get through a slice before his space was invaded, the blonde from his Calc class seating herself across from him, the curly haired guy from his art class sitting down on her left, a large dark-skinned male standing on her right.

“I'm Erica,” she introduced without prompting, red lips stretched to reveal perfect white teeth. “This is Isaac,” she continued, pointing to the curly haired one who waved, then the giant. “And Boyd.”

Derek didn't say anything, didn't respond in any way, simply bit into his pizza as he glared. He'd just wanted to eat in peace, didn't need any social interaction. It was what he'd been hoping to avoid really, preferring to just get through the school year by himself, no new friends of any sort. He'd had plenty in New York and while he hadn't really talked to them since his dad's death, he wasn't about to replace any of them. He was doing fine all alone.

A tiny part of him scoffed at that, but he ignored it, just like he ignored the hopeful thump of his wolf's tail.

Erica—as he now knew her to be—didn't seem undeterred by his lack of response, simply folding her arms over the table and leaning forward, putting an ample chest on display—not that her corseted top wasn't already doing that for her. “You're an Alpha, right?” she questioned, head tilting to the side in a move that was more inquisitive than submissive.

This time, Derek did respond, not holding back the snort that wanted out. “Good job not living up to the stereotypes surrounding your hair color,” he snarked, noticing how the one named Boyd narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists in a purely protective manner. Judging by how mingled their scents were, Derek figured they were an item of some description, most likely just dating, since mates were pretty rare in high school.

The lone female didn't seem as offended by his implication, rolling her eyes like she'd heard every dumb blonde joke ever created multiple times and was frankly just bored with them. “Whatever,” she muttered, flicking long curls behind her shoulder. “We need an Alpha,” she stated bluntly, getting straight to the point. Chocolate eyes locked onto green ones, face all business, and Derek got the impression she was used to getting her way. “One who _isn't_ a pissant annoying little junior.” She nodded her head behind her and to the left, obviously motioning to something in that direction.

Unable to stop himself, Derek glanced over where she'd alluded to, seeing the group of juniors she'd been referring to. Scott was sitting between Stiles and the brunette from Derek's art class, dopey grin on his face. The redhead was across from Stiles, a bored looking blond male model next to her, then a tan dimpled male who was laughing at whatever ridiculous thing was coming out Stiles' mouth at that moment. The redhead reached over and put her hand over the Omega's, smiling widely, he returning the expression with a wink.

Lydia. Derek wasn't sure how he hadn't figured it out before, but that was definitely her. Although Stiles had stated he was over her and now had feelings for someone else, but that didn't mean much considering the touches and the way the two of them were huddled close over the table, heads nearly pressed together as they grinned at one another.

The Alpha glared, tearing his gaze away before his vision went red. Appetite lost, he tossed the remnants of his pizza down onto his tray, gritting his jaw once more as he focused his angry stare down at his lunch. Even if Stiles wasn't into Lydia as he claimed, he was into someone else, maybe that blond guy or the dimpled one or someone else who wasn't at their table. And even if by some miracle those feelings had been for Derek, he'd pretty much blown any chance of something happening there, had destroyed whatever crush might've been there and guaranteed it wouldn't grow into something more.

Which was what he wanted.

Really, truly had wanted.

Despite the nausea in his stomach and the tightness in his chest and the whimpers his wolf let out, it was what he'd wanted.

“Uh, Derek?”

He looked up at his name, seeing the way Erica had an eyebrow cocked in confusion, seeing how Isaac looked concerned yet afraid to say anything, seeing how Boyd just stared with still narrowed eyes that were now more analytical than angry. Clearly they noticed something was up with him, but there was no fucking way he was telling them anything, not about feelings he wasn't even admitting to himself. So instead, he spoke the first lie that came to mind.

“Just surprised you guys allow Omegas at your school,” he muttered, internally grimacing at the way he sounded like a total discriminatory bastard.

Isaac really did wince, leaning back an inch or two. Boyd actually flinched, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Erica's lips twisted, mulling the Alpha's words over before deciding on her own reaction.

“It's a small town,” Isaac reminded him, speaking for the first time in a low voice, almost like he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to have any input. Judging by the gentle smile and agreeing nod Erica was giving him, it wasn't anything she had done to make him feel that way. Derek found himself a little curious about the guy's home life, only to push all those thoughts aside, scrubbing at the back of his neck instead.

“We're lucky to have a lycan school at all,” the curly-haired one concluded, shrugging a slender shoulder under his cardigan.

“Plus Omegas are practically non-existent here,” Erica chimed in, backing up what her friend had been saying. “It would be a waste of money to give them a separate school.”

Derek bobbed his eyebrows, conceding the point. Beacon Hills was nowhere near the metropolis New York was. Hell, his year alone back in the city far outnumbered the entire student body of Beacon Hills Lycanthropic High. And so far, he'd only encountered one Omega.

An Omega he was forced to sit behind in Calc because his teacher had decided they should keep the same seats the entire year.

An Omega he lived next door to and ran past his house every morning.

An Omega who was best friends with his younger brother and whose scent transferred into their home despite not having been in it for days.

An Omega who still managed to torment his mind and emotions without even being around.

“Speaking of rare,” Erica interrupted his mental spiral, leaning forward across the table. Glee danced in her eyes, making the brown orbs sparkle, wicked grin on her face. She was clearly up to something and if the conspiring smirk Isaac wore was any sort of clue, Derek wasn't gonna like what was about to come out her mouth. “Back to the Alpha thing.”

Yep. He was right.

Grabbing his tray and his backpack, he rose to his feet, glaring down at her and only barely managing to keep his eyes green. “Not interested,” he damn near growled out before turning and stomping over to the trashcan to dump what was left of his lunch.

He caught sight of the three of them still at the table when he left the cafeteria, Erica watching him, mischievous smirk still on her face as Isaac and Boyd chatted. Clearly leaving wasn't the end of that conversation. Derek really should've known that shit wouldn't be that easy for him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It took less than five minutes for Derek to decide he hated his Physics class.

For starters, his teacher, Mr Harris, was the kind of pompous Alpha asshole that gave the rest of them a bad reputation. He spoke like he had much better things to do and that addressing high schoolers was so far beneath him, he couldn't even begin to describe it. He turned his nose up at anyone who dared to raise their hand and demeaned those who spoke, using large multi-syllabic words Derek only knew from his SAT prep courses the year before.

But as godawful as Harris was proving to be as a person, the worst part had been when he announced that whomever you were seated beside at your respective station was your lab partner for the year.

And Isaac had sat down beside Derek before the bell had rung, smirk on his face and twinkle in his brown eyes.

Derek mentally swore at Erica, already having no doubt that she was somehow behind it. Not that she'd purposely put he and Isaac in the same class, that was clearly a stroke of luck. But having the curly-haired one specifically sit with the Alpha was definitely her doing. Chances were she'd instructed both guys she hung around to speak to Derek at every possible opportunity in the hopes of wearing him down on the whole “be our Alpha” thing.

Still wasn't gonna happen though.

After Harris had finished droning on, wrapping up his speech with a heavy sigh, Isaac fully turned to his table-mate, twirling his pen between his fingers, eyes locked onto the Alpha on his left. Derek did his best to ignore the stares, focusing on the notes he'd just taken, writing his name inside the textbook he'd been given. It would only be a matter of time before one of them cracked and broke the silence, but there was no way in hell he'd be the one to do it. Hell, he'd gone six weeks without uttering a single word to his family and he'd been around them damn near twenty-four/seven. He could handle another ten minutes with another guy staring at him like a creeper.

And, as he figured would happen, Isaac ended up speaking first, a simple utterance of “I have a question.”

Fuck.

Derek hung his head, letting out a low sigh, eyes closing while he wished himself away. He felt his body tensing as he braced himself for the inevitable.

“How old are you?”

That had his head lifting, eyebrow cocked as he turned to look at the other male, wordlessly asking if he was serious.

Isaac looked dumbfounded, eyes wide, lips parted, head shaking as though he had no idea why what he'd just said was so strange or out there. “What?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He dropped his pen, settling for drawing random lines on his page. “I was just curious, 'cause you seem like a fully mature werewolf, but you're still in high school.”

The eyebrow stayed raised for another long moment, waiting for the bullshit to stop and the younger male to fess up that it was really just a roundabout way to inquire about the whole Alpha thing. But when Isaac stayed silent and continued to keep his curious gaze locked on him, not making any sign that he was letting anything go or that he was changing the subject to anything else.

Leaning back in his seat, Derek tapped the end of his pencil against his notebook repeatedly, staring down at the paper as he spoke flatly. “The school system back in New York required that all new kindergarteners be five by mid-October. My birthday is the end of December, so I had to start a year late, making me currently eighteen and still in school.”

Isaac nodded, taking the new info in, before tilting his head in curiosity, frowning. “So you _can_ be our Alpha.” Statement, not a question, and the older man really should've known that was coming.

Wait. He kinda did know.

“Yeah, I _can_ be,” Derek admitted, gathering his things as the bell rang and shoving them into his backpack. “But I'm not going to be.” Effectively ending that convo a second time, he got up and left Isaac behind, ignoring the whimpers from his wolf and the belief that the subject still wasn't fully dropped and that the discussion was gonna be brought up again later.

Whatever. He'd deal with that shit when it would happen—and it would definitely happen again. But for the time being, he was gonna concentrate on his next class, his second Lit course of the day.

The room was already half full by the time he got there, but he barely noticed anyone's faces or any details about anything. Hard to when his wolf was clawing at him and howling its head off, when his entire world had zeroed down to one thing.

That fucking scent.

With deliberate steps, he headed to the corner on the same side as the door, dropping into a free chair and forcing himself to stare straight ahead.

He failed.

At the opposite corner was Scott, turned around and chatting with the brunette from Derek's art class. And if the younger Alpha's dopey grin was anything to go by, the girl was clearly Allison, Disney dimples on display at something he said, hand coyly running through long brown curls.

Derek kinda felt like puking. He had half a second of freaking out over whether or not he and Kate had been that sickening, only to realize there was nothing about her that had been coy or demure. Not only that, but there was no way he'd ever felt that dopey over any person he'd been in a relationship with, not even with his first love Paige.

Leave it to someone as oblivious and out of touch as Scott to behave that way over a crush.

Flicking his eyes away, he stared at the front of the classroom, watching the slender brunette teacher write her name on the chalkboard—Miss Blake—feeling that same earlier sensation of being watched. Unable to help it, his eyes switched back over to Scott and Allison, only this time, he ignored the lovey-dovey antics of the pseudo-couple. Instead, his gaze was drawn to Stiles as he sat on Scott's left, pen between his teeth, leg shaking up and down, eyes staring right back at Derek.

Shit.

Derek tore his eyes away immediately, facing the front. He felt the tips of his ears heat up at being caught staring, felt his heart pounding—although he wasn't sure if it was from adrenaline at being busted or from seeing Stiles again. His wolf was whimpering, scratching at him, clearly demanding Derek walk over and sit with the Omega, especially now that they'd been noticed. For his wolf, Stiles staring at him was a clear sign that he wanted the Alpha to join him so they can be together and happy and all can be right with the world.

Yeah right.

The bell rang, Miss Blake calling for everyone's attention, and Derek settled in to focus, spending the entire period ignoring Stiles and his staring.

~*~*~*~*~*~

His last class of the day was PE, and while Derek would've much rather had weightlifting like back in New York, it was only available to those actually on a school team. And since Derek was done with sports completely, he was stuck in Phys Ed.

Coach Finstock was loud and abrasive and everything his old coaches back east had been and Derek immediately respected the fuck outta the guy, despite the fact that he had it in for some kid named Greenberg. There was a brief moment where shit hit the fan when Finstock had paused during roll call to ask if Derek was _the_ nationally ranked lacrosse player Derek McHale, blue eyes gleaming in wicked delight, grin practically manic in its appearance. Derek had told him not anymore, cutting off any objections by questioning if he achieved that spiky hair look by sticking a fork in the toaster or a socket. Finstock just stared before moving on down the list of student names.

Boyd had been in the class with him, but had remained the same silent stoic giant he'd been during lunch. Derek decided he liked the guy for that alone, although that didn't mean he actually wanted to get to know the guy or befriend him.

After class, Derek showered and changed quickly, ending up being the first person to leave the locker room. But unfortunately for him, he wasn't the first to leave the _school_ , finding two uninvited nuisances by his Camaro.

Erica wore her usual up-to-no-good smirk as she sat on the hood of the sports car, ankles crossed, hands resting behind her. She looked like a pin-up and if Derek were in more of a social mood—and if her scent didn't carry such a strong undercurrent of Boyd—he'd actually enjoy the image. But instead, he just found it aggravating, especially when accompanied by the visual of Isaac leaning against the front bumper, smirk of his own on his face, arms folded over his chest.

Derek kinda wanted to smack their light haired heads together and hope they finally got the memo.

Sighing harshly, he scuffed his way over, pausing before them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” Erica answered, shrugging a shoulder, saccharine smile on her face. She looked the picture of innocence, batting long lashes at him, and if it hadn't been for their earlier convo during lunch, he honestly wouldn't have thought she had any other ulterior motives.

Too bad for her he knew better.

He cocked an eyebrow momentarily, features flat in order to show just how completely unamused he was by her act. “How'd you find my car?”

“We scented it.”

The eyebrow went back up, this time to stay. He wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but it still seemed somewhat far-fetched that the two of them had gone around the lot sniffing cars or had trailed after his scent through the entire school before he made it out of PE.

Isaac sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he hung his head, only to tilt it to the left in submission. “It was the only car in the lot we didn't recognize and we figured it was probably yours.”

Erica slapped his chest, glaring as she let out a small growl. “Don't make us look incompetent in front of our potential Alpha.”

The Alpha in question let out a harsh sigh of his own, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. Honestly at that point, he would much rather be forced into another uncomfortable dinner with Melissa and John, complete with Maria trash talking werewolves, Scott making goo-goo eyes at Allison, and Stiles...well, Stiles just being there and having that _scent_. All that would be much better than dealing with Blondie and Curly loitering on his car and demanding something he didn't wanna give.

“I'm not being your Alpha,” he stated calmly and succinctly, trying to keep his breaths even and not lose his shit in the parking lot of his new high school on day one.

A noise of protest left Erica, she sliding down the hood of his Camaro as she scooted closer. Her scent was colored with desperation and upset and he could just tell she was pouting without having to see it. “You won't even listen to our proposal? Or give us a shot of any kind?”

“No,” he grunted, dropping his hand to level the full force of his glare on her. “I'm not being _anyone's_ Alpha. Ever.”

Red lips twisted angrily, black shadowed eyes narrowing, arms folded under an ample chest with a huff. Definitely pouting. “So you're going against every instinct you have and are seriously gonna do the lone wolf thing?”

Fucking _finally_! It was getting through her head and not a moment too soon. “Yes.” He crossed his arms over his own chest, still glaring, switching the angry stare back and forth between the twosome on his Camaro. “Now get off my car before I rip your throats out. With my teeth.”

The threat worked, both of them quickly jumping out the way and scampering off to the side. Derek resumed his now usual habit of ignoring their stares as he got behind the wheel, backpack on the passenger seat, immediately starting the engine.

One down. Hundred seventy-nine to go.

And if they all went down the way that one did, he wasn't entirely sure he'd make it to graduation.


	8. Mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, got stuck with an exchange fic, then two Big Bangs, then trying to plot out a third Big Bang (which I still need to figure out. Urgh), and then worked on a different fic. Plus, ya know, real life. So yeah.
> 
> Also, sorry for the somewhat shortness of it but I personally think some interesting stuff happens in order to make up for lack of length. *shrugs* Anyhoo, enjoy, lemme know whatcha think, and party on, dudes!

There were no cars in the driveway when Derek parked his Camaro alongside the edge of the lawn. There were no heartbeats inside the house when he got out either.

But that didn't mean he was lucky enough to be left alone.

He'd spotted Stiles in the driveway as he'd neared the house and had debated momentarily whether or not to just keep driving and avoid the guy, only to realize he had nowhere to go. He just needed to face the fact that the guy was inescapable, that there was no getting away from him. He lived next door, he was in two of Derek's classes, he was best friends with his younger brother. The Alpha was going to be constantly subjected to him, regardless of any avoidance techniques on his part, so really, he needed to get over it and just deal.

Easier said than done really.

Stiles approached as he parked the Camaro along the edge of the street, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, sneaker covered feet scuffing and kicking at the pavement on the driveway then the sidewalk. Derek felt his entire body tense up, muscles going tight, fingers clenching into fists, jaw gritting and grinding. Inside, his wolf was losing its mind, jumping about and barking, tail wagging wildly. Clearly it was excited over the Omega's presence, was overjoyed to see him and see him get closer, after so many days apart.

Traitor.

Derek turned slowly, fist clenched around the strap of his backpack, watching with narrowed eyes as the younger man slowed to a stop before him. He held his breath, refusing to inhale that sweet Omega scent and fall victim to it, refusing to let it control his actions and turn him into something he barely recognized.

An uneasy smile played on Stiles' lips as he brought his hands out his pockets and held them in front of his chest, fingers tangling and untangling, a nervous tick if Derek ever saw one. Understandable considering their few interactions hadn't gone all that pleasantly.

Especially their last one.

“Scott's not here,” Derek stated gruffly, shutting his door with a bit more force than necessary yet still with care, not wanting to damage his car.

Stiles nodded, pressing his lips together before releasing them with a smack. The Alpha's eyes darted down briefly, noting the white tint to them from the pressure before it bleed out into a dark pink. His mind imagined those lips darkened even more, reddened, blurred, bitten, all from Derek's ministrations and he had to quickly wipe the image away before his body got on board with it and his scent shifted to something entirely different.

“Yeah, I know,” the Omega responded, leaving the older man scrambling to remember what the hell they'd been talking about. “He's with Allison. Shockingly enough.” He scoffed, dropping his hands by his sides, whiskey eyes rolling.

Derek's own green orbs narrowed in suspicion, leather jacket creaking as he folded his arms over his chest. “Then why are you here?”

His hand lifted once more, this time rubbing the back of his head as he winced. The leaner male turned his head away, eyes darting about, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. It was all too easy for Derek's mind to imagine those same teeth sinking into his own flesh, whether they were blunt or sharp, didn't matter. He found himself wanting to not only mark the Omega with his own fangs, but have the guy mark him, too, to be able to walk around with the indentations of Stiles' fangs on his skin, on his neck, the entire world able to see them and know he was taken, even if they couldn't smell their combined scents all over him.

The image had his heart pounding and chest tightening and he inhaled sharply, an action that proved to be a big mistake. Because that inhale had brought with it Stiles' sweet smell, making his head spin and his cock throb in interest, along with the scent of something else, a spicier scent with hints of coconut and pineapple and—

Derek had no idea when he'd moved, when he'd moved _Stiles_ , but he had. Between one blink and the next, he'd gone from standing on the sidewalk by his car to pinning the Omega against it, their bodies pressed together from chest to hip, his nose buried in the younger man's neck once again as he fisted his tee. He was barely aware of what he was doing, of what was going on, only feeling fuzzy sensations as his wolf controlled his every move.

His cheek rubbed against the sensitive flesh of Stiles' neck, a low groan leaving the Omega's lips, his head tilting to the side in submission and to give him more skin to work with. And Derek took advantage, rasping his whisker covered cheek and jaw all over that pale skin, making it red, marking it as his. A rumble shook his chest and it took him a moment to realize he was growling, low and long, his wolf pissed at something.

No, not _something_ ; at another Alpha's scent on Stiles' skin.

An Alpha that wasn't him. Or even Scott.

And fuck, was it completely and totally unacceptable.

Derek's body writhed against Stiles' pliant one, an instinctual way of rubbing his scent against the Omega, of making sure his entire body was covered with it so this mystery Alpha knew who he'd been fucking with, whose property he'd been touching, whose territory he'd been encroaching upon. Because it had been a male Alpha, Derek could tell by the presence of a second testosterone-tinted scent, by the Armani cologne that came with it. And Derek would be damned if he let any of that smell linger on Stiles any longer.

Whimpers left the younger male, his own natural scent getting stronger and spicier, arousal flooding him. But that other Alpha's scent was still there, was still present and noticeable and it had to go, it had to go right fucking then.

Taking their clothes off would help. Nothing helped transfer and mingle scents faster or better than skin-on-skin. Plus it would help Derek get rid of the offending clothing that held that damned Alpha's smell and he could have a naked Stiles writhing and moaning underneath him. _So_ much better than the clothed one he had at that moment.

His hands released the cotton tee he had a death grip on, slipping down to the younger man's hips, squeezing them before his fingers slid under his shirt. He felt the _roughsoft_ sensation of bare skin, his wolf grumbling in contentment, whining to get a hold of more, to mark him up more. His claws slid out from where they were usually hidden, barely pressing against the Omega's back, just enough to be felt and not cause any damage or break the skin.

Stiles groaned loudly, his own fingers clutching at the leather jacket covering Derek's shoulders, head tilting back as far as it could go. His hips bucked, the bulge of a half-hard cock pressing against the Alpha's and making them both gasp. Derek dragged a fang up along the side of the Omega's throat, making him shiver, the sensation making him smirk in victory. He pressed wet kisses over his neck, lips tingling at the warm, irritated skin, cock pulsing at the breathy whines that ghosted over his ear.

The growls were still leaving him, his body still moving, their chests rubbing and pelvises grinding. He was acting on pure instinct, his actions not his own, his brain not sending the signals to the rest of him to do whatever it was they were doing. But he didn't care. He was lost in the moment, lost in the heady sensations of the Omega. His mind was spinning, dizzy, drunk, high, whatever. That sweet scent was all he could smell, that extra spice of arousal, that pleasing note of his own scent slowly mixing in with Stiles'. He felt a chest heaving against his own, felt a shivering, shuddering, pliant mess of a teen caught between his own body and his Camaro. His fingers gripped the skin of Stiles' back, careful not to scratch too deep, holding the younger man to him and against him and making sure he didn't fall on knees that had apparently gone weak.

Derek moved his head so they were cheek to cheek, his whiskers now rubbing against the soft flesh of Stiles' face and marking him there. He wanted to do it everywhere, to make sure that pale skin was completely red and beard-burned, the only untouched areas being his moles and freckles. He wanted Stiles to go home, go to his friends' houses, go to school covered in the evidence of his being with Derek, a satisfied smirk on his face when people ask what happened and who he'd been with, whiskey eyes flashing gold as he named his Alpha.

 _His_ Alpha.

“Mine,” he growled in the Omega's ear before sinking blunt teeth into the lobe and tugging, making the younger man gasp.

“Yours,” Stiles breathed before moaning, hand grasping the back of Derek's neck and holding him there. “I'm all yours, Derek, yours, yours, yours.”

Which was precisely when the Alpha felt like he'd suddenly fallen victim to the Ice Bucket Challenge.

Because those words were a bucket of cold water being dumped over him and breaking him out of the hypnotic trance he'd been in. His entire body froze once again, eyes shooting wide open, lips parting and dropping the lobe he'd been sucking on.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fuck shitting fuck.

He'd done it again.

Shit.

Stiles paused against him, head pulling away to look at the older man's face, hand loosening its grip on the back of his neck just enough so that Derek could easily extract himself from his hold.

“Der?”

Shit.

Snatching his backpack off the ground, he backed up a couple steps, turning completely around when his boot hit grass, ready to bolt. Only to stop when his name was called firmly, with as much authority as an Omega was capable of.

Really, it shouldn't have affected him in the slightest. Derek should be able to keep going and ignore the guy and his demand for the older man's attention. He was an Alpha and therefore superior to an Omega, the lower dynamic unable to truly command the way the higher one was. Because Omegas were submissive and pliant and gave in to an Alpha's whims, while the Alpha exuded authority and demanded his every order be followed, able to command others at will.

Yet at the call of his name, Derek was frozen in place, only able to spin around on his heel and face the one who'd spoken it.

Stiles stood there with his brow furrowed, hands trembling by his sides, body still being wracked with slight tremors. His hair was mussed from being pressed against the Camaro, shirt wrinkled at his chest where it'd been gripped tight. Whiskey eyes were darker than usual, bottom lip bitten red by his own mouth, cheeks flushed and red from arousal, the right one a more angry, brighter shade from Derek's stubble, matching the color of his neck. He swallowed hard, licking his lips before tapping the fingers of one hand against the fist of the other.

“I, uh,” he started then paused, clearing his throat against the harsher tone of it. The rasp. The blatant arousal and need and desire evident in his body, his scent, his voice.

And Derek had done that to him.

He vacillated between pride and his own arousal at that knowledge, glad to be able to affect the Omega that way and get him going, get him ready for more, yet angry at himself for giving in and for being weak once again. His legs braced themselves, muscles tensing to carry him away into the house and up to his room, as far away from Stiles as possible.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Stiles managed to rasp out, fingers tangling together in front of his chest. It was so strange to see him so nervous yet so debauched, especially when the anxiety rolling off him had nothing to do with anything sexual in nature, but was aimed more towards whatever it was he wanted to discuss.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that, slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and gripping it. “Me?”

The younger man nodded vehemently, lips pressing together again. “Yeah. I actually wanted to apologize.”

That just flat out blew Derek's mind.

His lips parted in shock, eyes narrowing in skepticism. He inhaled to speak but nothing came out, the air slowly leaving him as he struggled to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say. Because he had no clue how to react to that, mainly because he had no fucking clue why exactly he needed to be apologized to. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had apologized to him, could only come up with superficial generic expressions of condolence over his loss and he'd taken them all with the same rehearsed expression the bearer had given him.

But there was Stiles, completely sincere and genuine Stiles who felt as though he needed to say he was sorry over... what? There was nothing for him to apologize _for_. If anything, Derek owed him a good amount of apologies himself over his behavior, including his most recent act of pinning the guy to something and trying to scent-mark him against his will, without his consent.

Derek had no idea what to do with that.

“For what?” he managed to choke out, eyebrows scrunching together to form a confused scowl, one his dad wore often when working on the budget or helping his kids with their homework.

Stiles rubbed the back of his head before wringing his hands together again, scent laced with anxiety and nerves, regret and guilt, and Derek felt his wolf whine at it, demanding he go over and soothe their Omega.

No, not their's. Despite anything that may have been growled out in the heat of the moment, Stiles wasn't their Omega and Derek wasn't his Alpha and never was that gonna change.

“I—Yeah, the other day, in the basement, I was a dick,” the younger man stated bluntly before sighing. His leg was shaking, eyes darting about again, lips pressed together before he continued. “I of all people should know what it's like to lose a parent and how badly you just wanna be left the hell alone, and it's gotta be worse for you 'cause you're an Alpha and that was your pack that you lost and I know Alphas are all about pack first and foremost and that's the most important thing to them, but you lost part of yours and then you lost your territory when you moved, which is, like, number two for an Alpha so shit's been double, if not triple harder for you than it was for me, 'cause your entire world has been shifted and shaken and you have no idea which way is up and you've been thrown about and probably feel like you've lost your identity and your anchor and your everything, yet I still pushed and wouldn't give you space and it was a dick move and yeah. Sorry.” He ended the ramble by pressing his lips together again, nodding as he clutched his hands by his chest, foot still tapping on the sidewalk out of excess energy rather than impatience.

Derek didn't speak, just gave one slow nod, once again stunned by Stiles' actions. He was the first person to even halfway get what was going on with the Alpha, to understand what he'd been thinking or feeling, despite being an Omega and despite Derek's own brother being an Alpha and in the exact same situation. Yet it was Stiles who was putting it in black and white—as black and white as something like that could be really—and totally understanding what Derek was going through.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, fought back his wolf who was dying to walk over and hold the Omega again—this time for a different reason. Instead, he licked his lips and gave a curt “thanks”, before adding on a quick “and apology accepted.”

Happiness flooded Stiles' scent, contentment overriding anxiety and guilt, the nerves staying there. “Good,” he responded, pleased, lips quirking up in a quick little smile of sorts. “And just so you know, I promise to give you as much space as you want and not push you into something you don't want.” He paused to shrug. “Figured school is hell enough for me without having to add another angry Alpha glaring holes into my head during the day.”

The older man frowned in confusion, lips parting to ask what the hell Stiles was talking about and demanding to know who this other Alpha was so he could set him straight. But he never got the chance to speak, the Omega barreling right along, another ramble leaving his mouth without his mind seeming to be aware of what he was saying.

“So I'm backing off, won't even ask you for an extra pencil when I forget mine—which probably won't happen anyway 'cause I always carry, like, five at least, so if you ever need one, I'm the guy to ask.” He gave a closed lip self-satisfied grin at that, proud of his over-preparedness. “Oh, and if you also ever wanna pin a guy against your wall or your car or even your bed, I'm the one for that, too.” His smirk turned into something more naughty, eyebrows wagging suggestively over sparkling whiskey eyes, tongue darting out to lick his lips subconsciously.

Derek inhaled sharply, catching hold of that aroused scent again, his cock twitching in interest and anger at having been ignored over the past couple minutes. His mind teamed up with it, supplying him with countless images of Stiles pinned against his bedroom wall, against his mattress, joined by the memory of exactly how that leaner body felt against his own and the way they writhed together.

Some part of his brain was still working, a small sense of honor and decorum and ethics and just flat out refusal to do that under any circumstances really, regardless of any sort of consent or demand for it to happen.

Steeling his features, his tightened his grip on his backpack strap, glaring at the Omega with hardened eyes. “Never gonna happen,” he ground out with a tense jaw, meaning every word.

Stiles' smirk just grew, fangs peeking out beneath a cupid's bow lip. His scent grew stronger, spicier, as he leaned back, shoulders and upper back meeting Derek's Camaro once more. He purposely bucked his hips out, held his hands up so they were pressed against the car in an act of supplication and surrender. He was playing up his Omega-ness, appealing to Derek's Alpha nature and messing with his instincts, teasing biological needs and desires.

“You sure about that, big guy,” he teased, voice an octave lower, a slight lisp caused by his fangs joining in. His eyes flashed gold as his head tilted to the side, baring the beard-burned side of his neck in a way he knew would drive the Alpha nuts.

Dick.

Teasing, beautiful, arousing, Omega dick.

Derek tensed all over once again, claws sliding out and digging into his palm, into his strap. His chest was heaving as he practically panted, struggling to maintain control of himself, struggling to make sure his wolf didn't take over and he wound up giving into Stiles and pinning him against something.

Again.

With careful, precise, _controlled_ actions, he spun on a heel and marched up to the front door, steadfastly ignoring the cries of his name, the demands for him to stop, the insistences that he turn around and come back. All of it was background noise, fuzz and static he tuned out as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it all out as he shut the wood.

The air in his lungs left him in a long exhale, making him realize he'd held his breath the entire time. He looked down to find his hands were shaking, that _all_ of him was shaking, trembling, vibrating with need and desire and anticipation.

Fuck.

He stood by the door, ears straining to hear past the wood, listening out for the sounds of footsteps getting closer, of a knock on the door or the doorbell ringing.

But nothing came.

Satisfied he wouldn't be followed, Derek climbed the stairs and headed straight for his attic room. He dumped his backpack unceremoniously on his bed, standing by the foot of it and repeatedly rubbing his hands over his face roughly as though he could scrub away the past few minutes from his life, as though he could scrub away the mental images of how much further he'd wanted to go. 

“ _Never gonna happen,_ ” his earlier words echoed in his head and he was surprised at how sure he'd sounded when he'd been completely shaken to his core. He had no idea how he'd managed to actually walk away from Stiles and his inviting position against the Camaro, his blatant offer to return to what they'd originally been doing. And then some.

“Fuck.” He breathed out the swear to an empty room, hands dropping to his rest his fists on his hips. He'd spent the past two months building up walls and pushing everyone away, only for Stiles to come along and start beating at them with a sledgehammer.

Then back off and give him space.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

Heaving out a sigh, Derek lifted his eyes from his backpack to the window across his bed from him, peering through the glass and taking in the sights outside.

Huge. Fucking. Mistake.

Because the edge of the Stilinski lawn featured a steep incline, making their house sit at a higher altitude than the Delgado-McHale one. Meaning that the window of Derek's attic room gave him a good view in the window of Stiles' bedroom.

Shit.

The houses weren't close, a good respectable distance of a dozen yards or so between them, but that meant nothing when werewolf vision was involved. His advanced eyesight meant Derek could see every detail of the teenager's room: the exact shade of gray on his walls and the photos on the cork board above his desk, the grass-stained sock on the floor where it'd been dumped and the dark blue comforter covering the bed in a heap.

The heaving Omega leaning against his door with his head tilted back, his eyes closed and his hand grabbing at his crotch.

Double shit.

Derek stood there frozen, eyes roaming the younger man and taking in every tiny aspect of him. The red flush of his cheeks, the teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the flannel shirt hanging off his elbows, his moving hand as he stroked himself through layers of fabric. His brow furrowed momentarily and the Alpha could practically hear the whimper Stiles was more than likely letting out.

He felt his own cock stir in his boxer-briefs, throbbing against the cotton in an insistent manner, a firm reminder that it was there and had been forgotten and ignored again. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, hanging open, chest heaving as he panted shallowly. His skin was tingling all over, wolf howling in a plead to go over there, to touch Stiles the way he was touching himself, to lend a hand—literally. But he couldn't move. He was still frozen, feet glued to the floor, eyes glued to the room across the way.

Fuck, it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen and he'd watched Kate make out with and grope her best female friend, had watched her mouth swallow him down while she fingered herself. And porn. God, all the porn in the world couldn't compare to what he was currently witnessing, no amount of videos of Omegas riding knotted dildos or Alphas stretching and displaying their Omega's holes with their fingers or Alphas growling about breeding their Omegas as they fucked into them hard, none of it could ever equal the arousing vision of Stiles tugging at his cock through his jeans.

He needed to look away, Derek knew this. It wasn't a movie, wasn't something he'd searched for online and stumbled upon on some free site full of amateur videos and clips of professional ones. This was a teenage boy enjoying a private moment in his room while he was home alone. He had no clue he was being watched. He was underage. He was the son of the _sheriff_. Everything about this was wrong and creepy and borderline stalkerish.

Yet he couldn't look away.

Stiles pushed away from the door, eyes now opened, yanking his flannel shirt off and tugging his tee over his head. His own chest was heaving rapidly and Derek could perfectly imagine the pants he'd be letting out. The older man swallowed hard as his eyes roamed newly displayed skin, noting the flush over his chest, the faint outline of abdominal muscles formed by lacrosse and running, lean muscle from phys ed and sports rather than the gym and working out. Derek felt his fingers clench then unfurl repeatedly at his sides, dying to touch, to roam his hands over that exposed flesh, to compare his tan skin to Stiles' pale flesh, to count moles and trace their shape with his finger, his claw, his tongue. He wanted to be the one to peel the Omega's clothing off, to unwrap him like a gift, to worship every inch as it was revealed to him and leave the leaner one a moaning, writhing, panting, whimpering mess. He wanted those noises and those expressions to be caused by something he'd done, by his own touch.

He wanted Stiles.

Against his wall, against his car, against his mattress, didn't matter. He just.

He wanted him.

Badly.

The Omega flopped onto his bed out of sight, breaking the trance Derek had found himself in. He felt hot all over, blood like fire as it raced around him, collecting in his groin. He could feel a damp spot in the front of his boxer-briefs where precome had already leaked out and soaked them, could feel his cock throbbing painfully, and he knew there was no way he could ignore it, not this time, not after witnessing what he had and feeling what he did.

Derek moved quickly, tearing his leather jacket off and tossing it aside before flopping onto his back on his bed, head on his pillow. He wasted no time in unbuckling his belt, tugging open the buttons on his fly, reaching in the slit of his underwear to pull his cock out. He had no patience for preamble, for delaying anything, simply wrapping his hand around his hard length and stroking. It was dry, not nearly enough wetness from the small amount of precome still dripping from the slit, but he wasn't in the mood to grab his lube out the desk drawer. He was hard and aching and his mind was racing with images of Stiles, Stiles, _Stiles_.

Stiles with his hand on his own cock.

Stiles biting into his own lip.

Stiles tilting his head to the side and showing his neck.

Stiles writhing against him and begging Derek to just please, please, _please_ mark him, fill him, knot him.

Stiles spread out on Derek's bed, cheeks flushed, hair matted down with sweat, eyes wide as pleasure overrode him and turned him into a mess.

A tingle was felt at the base of his cock, his knot filling, expanding. Fuck, it hadn't happened all that often—his heat aside, since he popped his knot pretty much every time something even _grazed_ his dick—mostly at the beginning of puberty when boners showed up whenever they wanted and he woke up with sheets stickier than they had been when he'd gone to sleep. But since then, when he'd grown into his body and his hormones had—mostly—leveled out, he'd only ever popped it a couple times, mostly by himself, once during his first blow job from Kate who'd glared and grumbled that he was lucky she wasn't deepthroating him because she wasn't dealing with him stuck in her mouth like that. Yet the few solo times it'd happened, he'd been watching breeding kink porn, had listened to an Alpha growl about how he was gonna fill his Omega with his pups and it'd set off his own instincts, causing his knot to grow.

It'd never happened during what was pretty much a usual masturbating session with a fairly vanilla fantasy attached to it.

Until Stiles of course.

Closing his eyes, Derek got lost in the fantasy, imagined it was Stiles' hand that reached up and gripped his knot tightly, squeezing as it grew and making him gasp. He held the gland tightly, stroking the rest of his cock faster, the glide smoother now thanks to an abundance of precome that had spurted out. His foot dug into the mattress, the heel of his boot getting tangled in the sheet in a way he barely noticed. His teeth sank into his bottom lip to stifle his whimpers and groans, blood trickling down his chin as his fangs lengthened and sharpened and his mind supplied him with an image of Stiles bending down and lapping it up.

“ _I'm all yours, Derek,_ ” Stiles' voice inside his head repeated his earlier words. “Yours, yours, yours.”

Derek's spine arched off the bed as he came, eyes widening, mouth gaping as he gasped out, his breathing freezing soon after. His entire body tightened up as his cock throbbed, pulsing out ropes of come that hit his shirt, staining the dark cotton. Pleasure crashed over him, overriding the empty feeling of a solo orgasm, making him tingle and shiver all over in a manner more intense than his earlier arousal.

As his mind came back to earth and his body came back to the bed, he stared down at himself, at the mess on his shirt and the come still trickling out of his cock, fist clenched tightly around his fully expanded knot. He'd be dealing with minor orgasms for the next twenty minutes, mini-tremors and sparks, more come leaking out his cock as his instincts and body tried to breed an invisible person above him. And all of it was leaking right onto his tee and soaking into the cotton.

Shit. How the fuck was he supposed to explain _that_ to Melissa?

~*~*~*~*~*~

The rest of his day was spent alone. After he'd _finally_ stopped coming and his knot had deflated, he showered and washed up, taking great care to make sure his scent didn't give away what he'd been up to. Downside of werewolf family members was them being a little too aware of when you'd gotten off. He'd never forget when he was ten and he'd learned the scent of sex and orgasms and had noticed it on his parents during breakfast on his mom's birthday. Scarred for life. And sweet, innocent, naïve Scott was none the wiser.

Lucky asshole.

Shower all done and evidence of his masturbatory actions washed away, he threw on a load of laundry, hoping the stains would wash out his shirt and knowing he was raising more suspicions than hiding anything by voluntarily helping with housework. He caught up on summer reading he'd missed due to the move and worked on homework between loads, made himself a double-decker sandwich as a snack, hating how famished he always felt after coming and kicking himself for not having a stash of food in his room like he did back in New York.

Scott probably had one here, too. Guy always smelled suspiciously of nacho cheese Doritos, even when none were in the kitchen.

Maria was the first to arrive home, the dryer in the middle of its cycle. She didn't say anything, just quirked an eyebrow before shuffling her way to the kitchen, muttering in Spanish about werewolves and their strange senses of smell. Derek let her believe that his random foray into laundry had to do with something in his clothes assaulting his delicate nose, figuring it was a good cover story.

His clothes were dry and back in his drawers in his room by the time Melissa got home from her shift, the nurse changing out of her scrubs before helping cook dinner. Derek was nearly finished with _Heart of Darkness_ by the time he was called down for the meal and he tossed the book aside before getting up, studiously avoiding looking out his window as he went. He really needed to invest in some curtains. Or at least staple a spare sheet or something over the glass.

Dinner was thick hamburgers with a kick, steak fries on the side, Maria muttering about salmonella poisoning when Derek bit into his rare meat. He fought off the urge to grin out of spite, but let the blood from his burger drip down his chin rather than wipe it up. Until Melissa chastised him for it.

Scott finally showed halfway through Derek's first burger, dopey grin on his face, his own natural woodsy musk nearly swallowed by vanilla and peonies. Allison. The older Alpha just stared flatly, knowing full well the younger was getting the hint about how unbelievable it was that he was sitting down to dinner smelling like he'd just had a bath in Eau de Female Beta. Scott's only response was to surreptitiously flip his older brother off.

The meal passed quietly, with stilted conversation about how the boys' first day at school went. Scott rambled on about his friends and his teachers, frowning slightly at the description of Mr Harris—which randomly brought a small amount of pleasure to Derek at the knowledge he wasn't gonna be the only one suffering through that asshole all year—only to start grinning again when he changed the subject to Coach Finstock and lacrosse.

Derek's answer to the same question had been a flat “could've gone better”, not elaborating. Melissa didn't press but looked disappointed at the lack of details. Maria had grumbled about the less than crisp lettuce on her burger. Scott had frowned even more.

When the food had all been eaten and Melissa had given her requisite orders to make sure homework was done before video games—an order that was aimed more at Scott than Derek—the elder brother cleaned up, dumping leftovers in the trash and carrying plates to the sink, as Scott hurried off to his room, cell phone in his hand already, and Maria shuffled to the living room, yammering away about nearly being late for her date with Pat Sajak.

Melissa, on the other hand, stayed put.

Derek ignored her, setting about his task, pretending she wasn't there. He filled the sink with water, added the washing liquid, grabbed the sponge, had a hand settle over his—

Wait.

That wasn't part of the plan.

“Sweetheart?” Melissa prompted softly, timidly. “Are you alright? You seem. Off.”

That gave him pause, his head turning to her, an eyebrow raised as he silently asked if she was fucking serious. Really, according to her and anyone who'd known him before his dad's death, he'd been _off_ since getting that news in the hospital.

She sighed, see-sawing her head in concession. “All right, more off than usual,” she altered, moving her hand and folding her arms over her pink sweater. “But seriously. Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about, get off your chest, get advice about?”

Turning his head away, he stared down at the soapy water, his hands now submerged and loosely gripping a plate. Really, there was a lot of shit he could use advice for: how to get Beta werewolves off your back and realize you really aren't interested in starting a pack; how to deal with asshole Alpha teachers; how to stop pinning tempting Omegas against hard objects and scent-marking them against their will; how to stop fantasizing about doing said activities with said Omegas; how to not gain feelings for said Omegas.

Although it may be a little late for that last part.

But no matter the case, none of it was anything Melissa could help him with. Except maybe the asshole teacher part. The rest wasn't really anything she'd be familiar with or know how to handle as a human. Basically, he was stuck trying to solve his problems on his own, no advice being given to him.

If he even felt like asking for it in the first place.

Which he didn't.

Mostly.

Yeah, he most definitely didn't.

So instead of saying anything, he shook his head, eyes still on bubbly water, his hands feeling slimy from the grime off the dishes. “I'm fine.”

“You sure?” she double-checked, head tilting towards him. “Because a mother knows her son and I know there's something weighing heavily on you, more than usual. So if you wanna talk—”

“Melissa,” he butted in, voice cold, eyes hard as they leveled on her.

Her head reared back and he could practically hear her heart breaking at the use of her name, see the light go out in her eyes, see her entire body slump and curve in on itself from the blow. Derek felt his own heart cracking at the sight, his stomach twisting and tying in guilt and pain, hating that he caused her such grief and pain.

He really was a dick. He didn't deserve Stiles.

Not that he even _wanted_ Stiles in the first place.

His denial game was strong that day.

He cleared his throat of the lump that had formed in it, threatening to choke him in a death more merciful than he deserved at that moment. “I'm fine,” he grit out, voice rougher than usual. “I don't wanna talk about anything.”

Melissa nodded her head slowly, lips pressed together to hide their quivering, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Okay,” she replied in a voice stronger than she looked or felt. Without another word, she turned on a slippered heel and left the room, left Derek with his guilt and his nausea.

Fuck.

He didn't remember doing the dishes, but he must have, since they were all clean and put away. He didn't remember going to his room, but he must have, since he was standing in the middle of it, staring at his bed and the book he'd tossed aside, guideline for his summer reading report shoved in haphazardly as a bookmark. He did, however, remember feeling like the worst piece of shit and truly believing he was going to Hell.

Tilting his head up and staring at the room across the way from his, watching the _teenaged Omega son of the sheriff_ pacing about his room, smile on his face, phone to his ear, hand rubbing at the side of his neck where he'd been marked up, Derek thought that maybe he was already there.


	9. Erica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hi, hey! Not abandoned! Sorry for the delay, holy wow, I did not mean to go that long between updates. But I like making myself suffer and sign up for Big Bangs and then not write it until right before its due and end up writing over 120K within four weeks then promptly deciding I don't wanna write ever again.
> 
> Clearly that last bit ended up being a lie, because lo! An update!
> 
> This chapter is completely self-indulgent with possessive!Derek and Erica (ERICA!) whom I adore and is not dead, but instead living in France raising her pups with Boyd and hanging with Isaac and Allison. My denial game is strong. Also, let's talk about Danny leaving to follow Ethan as they road trip around the US like their own roaming li'l two man pack, shall we?
> 
> Anyhoo, enjoy the chapter, sorry on the delay, I would love to say it won't be that long between updates again, but I don't wanna lie soooooooooo... yeah okay bye :D

Derek dreamt about Stiles that night.

Not really all that surprising considering the events of the day. Which meant the subject matter of the dream wasn't all that surprising either. Stiles on his back, Derek's body pressed on top of his, the Alpha pinning his hands by his head, head buried in the crook of his neck. His knot was held tight within the Omega, long legs wrapped around his waist, shudders wracking him as his body remained on the edge, the littlest thing making him orgasm once more. Stiles was trembling beneath him, teeth sunk into his own bottom lip to hold back the whines, hips bucking up as he fought the hold the Alpha had on his hands.

“Please, Derek,” he whimpered out, voice raspy from arousal and crying out during their previous round. Evidence of his earlier orgasm was smeared between their bodies, his hard cock pulsing against the elder man's abs, demanding another release.

“Relax,” he breathed out, nuzzling his nose further into Stiles' skin, hips grinding in a slow circle. “You know I'll take care of you.”

A shiver raced through the Omega, a gasp escaping past parted, kiss-bitten lips, Derek purposely rubbing his knot against Stiles' prostate. He knew Stiles could come from just this, had made it happen before, could feel that it was working again by the way his Omega was clenching him tighter, the way he was shuddering more, gasping for air. His scent grew sharper, spicier, stronger, dancing on Derek's tongue as he breathed in through his mouth, air gusting out against sensitive pale flesh.

“Such a good Alpha,” Stiles groaned out, head tilting back, submitting further. “Take such good care of me. Always good to his Omega.”

Derek moaned, a fang dragging up along the tendon on the side of Stiles' neck. He felt claws prick the back of his hands where his fingers were tangled with the younger man's, hips bucking forward as he tried in vain to thrust further inside his mate.

Stiles cried out in pleasure, his own pelvis rocking upwards, clenching down more. His stomach was rolling in an attempt to try and get more friction on his cock, to try and reach orgasm that much faster. “More,” he breathed out. “Derek, more. Please, Der.”

The Alpha shuddered at his moniker being gasped out like that, his wolf rumbling in contentment and joy at his name rolling of the younger man's lips. He moved the teen's arms up, pinned his hands above his head with one hand, freeing the other to reach down and wrap around his cock.

“Je—fu—Derek”

He groaned at the way his name was spoken, needing to see the expression Stiles was wearing, needing the visual to go with the aural and the scent and the taste. Licking his lips, he opened his eyes, lifted his head, and—

And big mistake. Because suddenly he was awake and alone in his bed, one hand grabbing at the top of his mattress, the other wrapped around his knot as he ground his hard cock against his bed. He could feel his come saturating his boxer-briefs, the copious amount soaking through to his sheets, and his entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Derek slipped his hand out his undies before pushing himself up onto his knees. His pillows had been knocked onto the floor, top sheet tangled around his feet and one of his legs, boxer-briefs shredded where he'd impatiently tried to wrap a hand around himself. Shit, it was worse than when he'd been going through puberty and suffering wet dreams. Sure, he'd woken up covered in a few different bodily fluids, but he'd never actually destroyed anything.

Not until Stiles.

With a sigh, he wiped his hand—his clean hand—over his face, checking the time on his alarm clock. Three am. Great. Just perfect. He let out another sigh before clambering off his bed and making his way over to his desk with shaky legs. He discarded his soiled boxer-briefs, tossing them over to his hamper, then pulled a pack of wet wipes out one of his desk drawers. It was a quick clean up, still half-asleep, cock and knot still sensitive, not in the mood or mindset for a full wipe down or shower. Feeling less sticky, he crawled back in bed naked, conscious of the giant wet spot he'd created, dragging a pillow onto the mattress with himself.

He punched the pillow a couple times to fluff it up, flopping his head down on top with a grunt. Closing his eyes, he let exhaustion take him away and hoped like hell he didn't have another dirty dream.

Just like every other time, what he wanted didn't happen. He woke up to an even bigger wet patch, a shredded fitted sheet, and a wolf that was suffering the same kind of upset that he'd only ever experienced after the empty orgasms during a solo heat. Definitely not the best way to start his day.

Fuck, he hoped it got better from there.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It definitely didn't get better from there.

His run had sucked, mind unable to let go of everything the way it usually did, and his body felt exhausted from the workout it'd gone on while he was supposed to be asleep and resting.

He'd spent too long in the shower, trying to scrub away the scent of come and shame from his body, only to get a weird look from Scott anyway, followed by a comment from Maria over the cost of water and that he'd better not clog her drains with his fur. Melissa barely spoke a word to anyone, hurt and upset hanging around her like a storm cloud, fake cheery smile on her face as she kissed her mom's cheek goodbye and hugged Scott before leaving for work, completely ignoring Derek. Not that he didn't deserve it, but his wolf wasn't too pleased at being shunned by a pack member.

He'd then spent a few minutes in his room, trying to figure out if there was any way to save his sheet—and his underwear—before deciding they were completely trashed. And a search of the linen closet yielded no results, meaning he was gonna have to stop by somewhere after school to buy some new ones, further meaning he'd have to dip into his savings account. Always great.

But prolonged shower and sheet debate resulted in him arriving at school late, barely sneaking into History before the final bell sounded. He'd also barely made it to his Calc class after making the stupid mistake of trying to Google a nearby Target or Wal-Mart between classes, slipping inside before Ms Kali shut the door on his snout and being greeted by a beaming Erica who waggled her fingers at him with bright red nails.

"Heya, Alpha-man!"

He studiously ignored Erica and her pout at her unreturned greeting as he sat at his desk, slapping his notebook on top, eyes focused forward. Which, of course, just brought his line of vision onto brown hair, pale skin, and a whole lotta moles. He’d totally forgotten Stiles sat in front of him.

Stiles, whose scent shifted to something a little sour, embarrassment stiffening his posture, his leg shaking beneath his desk. Derek cocked his eyebrow at the shift in the Omega’s mood, only to remember what he’d caught sight of him doing in his bedroom.

Shit.

He forced his thoughts elsewhere, peering around Stiles to get a better glimpse at the board, wishing his half-chub away. But the other male was squirming in his seat, his sour scent soon joined by that spicy-sweet one Derek had inhaled while pinning him to his car the day before. Yeah, smelling an aroused Omega was definitely gonna calm his own libido. Just great.

On his left, Lydia pursed her lips, eyes narrowed as they flicked back and forth between the two males, obviously putting two and two together. On his right, Erica was grinning wickedly, pen cap between her teeth as a small chuckle left her lips. And directly in front, Stiles was trying to surreptitiously peek over his shoulder at Derek, only to be caught peeking.  
His day was gonna be even longer than the one before, he just knew it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The day dragged on, teachers beginning their lessons and delving right into educating the masses. Well, not as big a mass as the ones at his old school, but for a small town, he figured the classrooms were decent sized.

But the smaller sized classrooms meant he was more likely to be called upon to answer a question, like Ms Kali did during Calc and then again by Ennis during his lecture on Shakespeare's life. Thankfully he was left to his own devices during Art, although the teacher did lean over his shoulder to inspect the paper on his easel, telling him to let go of whatever it was that was bothering him and let the art flow freely. He scowled at the hippie-dippie bullshit she was spewing, saying nothing as he ground his jaw and stared at the stupid fucking stereotypical still-life set-up of a bowl of fruit, wondering what exactly was supposed to be emotional about that. A glance around the room found Isaac peeking at him out the corner of his eyes repeatedly and Lydia flat out staring, lips pursed and green eyes narrowed in thought.

“That's Scott's brother?” The incredulous female voice was supposed to be a whisper, he knew, but to his wolf hearing, he picked it up loud and clear.

Peeking at the opposite side of the circle the easels were set in, he caught sight of the brunette he now knew to be Allison leaning over to gossip with Lydia. The redhead nodded, left hand moving her pencil over her paper, lips still pursed, head tilted to the side. Allison glanced over at him briefly before flipping her dark eyes back to her own easel, brow knitted in confusion.

“And he's the one Stiles—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Lydia interrupted, wagging her pencil at her friend before pressing it to her own lips in a universal signal to shut up. Green eyes flicked over to Derek, catching him watching the exchange, and the female Alpha rolled them and mouthed at him to draw.

Because she hadn't just been doing the same thing.

Heaving a sigh, he put his pencil to paper again, trying to recreate the curve of an apple and hating the fact that it was still twenty minutes until lunch.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He regretted wishing for lunch almost as soon as it'd started.

Because lunch meant Erica and Erica meant yet another request over forming a pack, something he was dreading the second she sat down on his right. Boyd took the empty seat to his left, Isaac across from Derek, and the Alpha had the overwhelming sensation of being a trapped animal. Given the toothy grin Erica wore and he felt more like prey than any apex predator had any right to feel.

The two males delved into their paper bag lunches, Boyd tossing Erica an apple behind Derek's back, red lips sliding back to reveal fangs before she sank them into equally red skin. The Alpha cocked an eyebrow at her, she grinning in response as she chewed, turned in her seat so she was fully facing him, dark eyes sparkling behind even darker make-up.

“If this is another lame attempt to show me what a good pack you three would make—” he stated warningly, letting a slight growl color his words.

The lone female sat up straighter, face full of mock offense, hand flying to her chest. “How rude!” she exclaimed and Derek didn't for one second buy it. “We're just eating lunch.”

His eyebrow remained raised as he let out a dubious “uh huh.”

She slumped once again, shrugging a shoulder beneath her leather jacket. “Believe whatever you want, Alpha-Man, but we know the truth.”

He rolled his eyes this time, lifting his slice of pizza off the tray and holding it near his mouth. “Whatever,” he muttered before scowling. “And don't call me 'Alpha-Man'.”

“Why not?” she questioned innocently, lips twisted in curiosity, lipstick still perfectly in place. “You're an Alpha and you're a man, therefore, you're Alpha-Man.”

Derek snorted, head bobbing with the action before tearing off a large bite of his pizza slice. He knew her reasons were bullshit, as were her intentions for sitting with him. Really, the stupid nickname was the only way she'd be able to get away with calling him her Alpha and not have her throat ripped out by the anti-social male. And calling him “Alpha” in any sort of fashion would be calming to her wolf, would help anchor her and focus them both so they could live in better harmony. He knew—unfortunately—from recent firsthand experience, that a wolf without an Alpha was pretty much a wolf without a purpose in life, lost, adrift, confused, scared. And this was with him being an Alpha himself. He could only imagine the sort of turmoil a Beta would be going through, how much worse off it would be for them.

His eyes glanced at the three seated around him, Boyd silently chewing his homemade turkey club sandwich, Isaac popping half a puffed Cheeto into his mouth, Erica crunching into her apple. He had to wonder what kind of home lives the three of them had if they were looking elsewhere for an Alpha, wondered if they didn't have one for a parent. It was possible, werewolf children still being born to two Beta parents. Was much harder for a Beta to have a werewolf child with a human—though not entirely impossible—and he had no idea if they were purebreds or mutts like himself.

No matter the case, he still found it curious and a little weird that they'd look for an Alpha in a complete stranger. And the way Erica had spoken the day before, they'd obviously been searching for one for a while. He wondered why the desperation, why the intense need, to the point where they were questioning someone they didn't know and were pestering him despite being rejected—twice. Something deeper had to be going on, something that went beyond a wolf's instincts and desires for a pack and an Alpha.

“So I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fail Calc,” Erica stated nonchalantly, creating a conversation out of nothing before biting into her apple once again, nibbling around the core and managing to avoid the seeds.

Isaac snorted in disbelief, ripping open a two-pack of snack cakes and taking one out before sliding the other to Erica. “It's the second day of class, how are you failing already?”

She pouted, twisting her apple this way and that for any flesh she may have missed. “It's math and math hates me,” she stated with a shrug as though it was the most obvious thing in the world before chewing off the scant amount of apple that was left.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at her actions more than her words, wondering why she was trying to get every last morsel off a freaking apple, only giving up when it was just a stick and some seeds. He bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal, deciding not to get involved. Maybe she just really liked apples. Who knew and who cared.

Not him, that was for damn sure.

“Boy-oyd!” she sing-songed as she leaned forward over the table, looking around Derek at the larger Beta, sugar sweet smile on her face. “Can you do me a favor, baby?”

“No,” he replied flatly, turning a stoic expression on her, wiping his hands on a disposable napkin he'd brought from home.

“But you don't even kno—”

“I'm not tutoring you in math.”

She leaned back with a huff, folding her arms over her chest as she pouted. “Okay, fine, so you do know what I'm about to ask.”

The dark-skinned male pulled a bag of Sun Chips out his paper sack, holding it up as he opened them, speaking in a no-nonsense voice Derek couldn't help but respect. “Every time I try to tutor you, no matter the subject, you turn it into an anatomy lesson and sex ed.”

Okay, so it was respect with a small amount of being disturbed, but respect nonetheless.

Isaac groaned as he covered his ears, face screwed up as disgust colored his scent. “Oh god,” he whined, reminding Derek of when Scott had figured out what smells he was scenting off their parents the day after Valentine's. No one liked to be made aware that their parents had sex more than the necessary number of times to create each child they had.

Boyd and Erica both rolled their eyes at their friend's reaction, the blonde reaching out to ruffle curly hair. “Don't worry, Isy Baby,” she cooed, pursing her lips as she cupped his chin. “Some day your prince will come, and you'll get to come, too.”

“Oh god!” he groaned louder, pulling away from her and thumping back against his seat, face covering his hands as he raised his face to the ceiling.

Erica cackled—because there was really no other word for the laugh she let out—head tilting back as her hand flew to her chest, obviously more than amused at her friend's mortification. Boyd smirked, an expression Derek was pretty sure he'd never seen before, although his dark eyes were focused more on the lone female than the cause of her laughter.

As subtly as he could, Derek scented the two Betas on either side of him, catching the faint note of the other underneath their own natural scent. Clearly an item then, maybe even mates. Not entirely unheard of at their age. Werewolves tended to act closer to their animal brethren than their human ones, especially when it came to relationship and sex. Finding one's mate was more instinctual than the human fashion of going on dates and starting a relationship and staying together for years before figuring out if they were “the one”.

Not that that didn't happen with werewolves either. Dating around was still pretty common, especially for those in Derek's age range. But if one found their mate, then it was no more dating around. That was it, for life.

Kinda scary when Derek thought about it, being tied down to one person and not really knowing what else was out there. Then again, he figured it wouldn't feel like a huge loss and there wouldn't really be any desire to find any other possibilities for a relationship after one found that perfect person who was made specifically for them.

His eyes flicked over to the table of juniors, seeing Stiles laughing wildly, hand slapping the table as he hung off the shoulder of a tan male, eyes closed tight as his entire body shook with loud guffaws, head damn near resting on a muscular chest held within a too-tight v-neck tee. He felt an overwhelming mix of emotions: joy at seeing the younger teen so happy, jealousy that he wasn't the one making him laugh, anger at the other boy he was seemingly all over, a dark possessive streak demanding he march over and yank the Omega away, snarling at anyone who dared touched what was his.

“What about you?”

Erica's voice snapped him back to the table he was seated at, head jerking towards her, finding her already staring back at him, eyebrows raised in expectation as she chewed on a Little Debbie snack. He stared dumbfounded at her, mouth hanging open, brow furrowed, jaw twisting this way and that as he struggled to find the words he wanted to form. Not that he even knew what the hell she was talking about.

Unless...

Unless she knew he'd been scenting her and Boyd all over each other and was asking if he had anyone himself. Unless she'd caught him staring at Stiles like he was the Alpha's property and therefore not to be touched by anyone else—not that he was that archaic to where he wouldn't let his mate be hugged by anyone, but there's a difference between hugs and whatever the fuck was happening between Stiles and that tan guy and so help the kid if that was the scent he'd caught on his Omega yesterday afternoon...

“Think you could help me out with math?”

Oh.

Shit.

Right.

Derek continued to just gawk at her, brain scrambling to wipe away homicidal fantasies involving a certain coconut, pineapple, and Armani smelling Alpha fuckheaded asshole prick and wow, did he need to rein that in. His eyes briefly switched to his wolf vision and he slammed them shut, rubbing at them as though something irritating had gotten in them.

Not all that far from the truth, since the sight of Stiles hanging off another Alpha—assuming that was even the Alpha Derek was thinking about—was pretty fucking irritating. Beyond irritating really.

Fuck, when'd he become such a possessive and obsessive Alpha douchebag? He was worse than Kate when she'd snarled at a new Beta female for asking him where the science hall was so she could find her next class.

Although Derek felt as though he had more of a right to wolf out and snarl since his Omega was hanging all over some other Alpha.

No. Not his Omega. Just an Omega. And chances were, not the Alpha he was thinking about.

Fucking hell, why couldn't he stop thinking about this?

“Helloooo?!” Erica stretched the word out, waving a hand in front of Derek's face as he continued to just...stare. Unresponsive. Mind completely out of it as it struggled to push past thoughts of Stiles with... with... that guy. “Earth to Derek,” she called out, eyebrows raised in question, head twisted in curiosity. “Calc tutor? Yes? No?”

The bell rang somewhere in the background and the Alpha was only dimly aware of his body rising, of it turning and walking off, tray in hand, backpack hanging off one shoulder, everything moving on automatic. Something hit the back of his head, Erica yelling out a gruff “rude!” as he dumped his trash in the can and deposited his tray where it belonged. He barely registered the smack of it, the huff she let out, the shocked and offended gasp that came from Isaac, judging by the pitch. Not that it mattered really. He just...

He couldn't fucking think about anything except Stiles hanging off that tan guy, if they were an item, if they were just flirtatious with each other, if they were one of those annoying couples who weren't actually together but acted like they were and clearly had a thing for each other yet neither will locate their balls and make a move already.

His nose caught the scent of coconut and pineapple and Armani fucking aftershave and he trained narrowed eyes on the Alpha it belonged to as he passed.

The tan guy.

The one Stiles had been hanging off of.

The one who currently had the Omega in a headlock and was giving him a noogie, the mole-covered one giggling as his scent lit up with mischief and delight.

A low growl rumbled in his chest at the sight, narrowed glowing eyes watching as they disappeared behind a closing cafeteria door. His gums tingled and fingers itched as he longed to let his fangs and claws slide out, as he longed to go after the Alpha and make sure he knew whose Omega he was all over.

If the Omega didn't already actually belong to that Alpha.

No. No way. Stiles wouldn't have reacted the way he had to Derek if he already had an Alpha, wouldn't have become so pliant and willing against his car, wouldn't have submitted so easily, wouldn't have presented his neck in an open invitation to claim. But not being taken by an Alpha didn't mean he wasn't already in a relationship with one, wasn't already dating one, wasn't already flirting a whole lot and maybe about to start dating one.

But if that was the case, Derek had no problem fighting the other Alpha for the rights to claim Stiles. Incredibly archaic and caveman of him, but he knew it was his instincts at play, that it was his wolf driving his thoughts more than the human part of him. Although the human part was pretty on board with that plan, judging by the way his fists clenched at his sides and his lip peeled back in a sneer, right foot moving forward to stalk after the other Alpha.

Two hands clamped down on his shoulders, one thin and feminine, the other broad with thick fingers, both successfully stopping him in his tracks. Three distinct scents hit him, alerting him to the presence of Erica and Boyd on his sides and Isaac on his rear, the female tapping a clawed finger against the leather of his jacket.

“Not here, Alpha-Man,” the blonde's slightly raspy voice whispered directly into his left ear. “We're still in school and the administrators here won't hesitate to suspend your ass for the slightest hint of wolfing out, especially if it's to challenge another Alpha.”

Boyd nodded stoically on his right, before bobbing his head up towards one of the corners. Derek followed his line of sight, finding a security cam hanging there, red light flashing as it recorded them. Shit. He'd completely forgotten where he was, that he was in school and that there were consequences for wolfing out and fighting another Alpha over the right to claim an Omega. It was why Queens had a separate school just for Omegas, to prevent exactly that type of thing from happening.

And he'd nearly fucking done it himself.

Terrific.

“At least wait 'til after school,” Erica went on, now resting her forearm on his shoulder as she leaned on him casually, flicking her hand towards the exit. “Then you can tear him apart all you want.”

“Just not on school grounds,” Isaac quickly added from behind, anxiety rolling off him in waves.

The lone female see-sawed her head in concession before flicking her hand around again. “And if you need back-up to help you take care of him,” she offered, pausing to pat his chest with her hanging hand. “We've got your back, Alpha-Man.” She smiled proudly, the same emotion coloring her scent. Isaac still smelled nervous yet determined, as though he was entirely uncomfortable with the idea but willing to go through with it if it was what the pack wanted. Boyd remained as indifferent as always, scent flat, not seeming to care either way.

Derek shrugged them all off, adjusting his falling backpack strap before striding out the cafeteria and to his next class. They weren't his pack, he wasn't their Alpha, and he had no right to try and claim Stiles—not that he even wanted to claim him.

His mind flashed back to the Omega pinning himself against the Camaro in a blatant invitation, followed by the fantasy image of the same male pinned to his bed, tied to his knot and begging for more.

Okay, he could admit to himself that he wanted to claim the Omega and make those dreams become a reality. But wanting and doing were two totally different things and while he was fine with the first, he wasn't about to let the second happen.

With that thought in mind, he slammed his hand against the door and shoved it open, fighting against every urge he had to follow Stiles' scent—and the scent of that pineapple-coconut-Armani Alpha bastard—before he did something he regretted. Although at that moment, it was a fifty-fifty split between claiming an Omega and fighting an Alpha. Either way, not something he was gonna go through with.

Instead, he moved with determined strides towards the science hall, mentally preparing himself to suffer through another hour of Harris' Alpha assholism and resolutely not think of any Omegas or claims on them.

Wishful fucking thinking.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The rest of Derek's school day was as shit as the first half. Isaac spent most of Physics apologizing for Erica having thrown an apple core at his head and saying that he hoped her actions didn't reflect badly on his image of them as a pack. Derek simply ignored him the whole time, hand cranking down tighter around his pencil as Isaac's puppy dog eyes grew more pathetic with each passing minute.

American Lit was spent with his head in his book, when he wasn't sneaking glances over at Stiles, who alternated his time between paying attention to the lecture, making stupid faces at Scott, exchanging notes with Allison, and surreptitiously peeking back at Derek. But as much as his wolf lit up and its tail wagged like crazy at the attention, the human part of him was consumed with thoughts of that other Alpha and the way Stiles was hanging off him.

Phys Ed brought a reprieve of sorts as Finstock had them run laps around the track that encircled the entire building—standard lycan dimensions really—Derek finally feeling his mind go blank the way it hadn't during his usual morning run. Most everyone had grouped off, spending more time gossiping than jogging, and it was on his second lap that the Alpha found someone else had fallen into step with him. But as always, Boyd remained stoic and silent, content to simply run alongside the other man. And rather than speed up and try to get away from the Beta, Derek kept the same pace and allowed him to remain at his right.

Everything came rushing back once he hit the showers though, thoughts and reminders pounding at his head the way the water hit his skin. Stiles. The tan Alpha. Erica and her constant hints at them becoming a pack. Shit with Melissa, Scott, Maria, his dad. His life was shit, no way around it really.

Erica was waiting for him by his car, leaning back against the passenger door, neon pink and black checkered messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. Derek wasn't all that surprised to find her there, although he was still irritated as hell, and he let out a harsh sigh as he scowled while approaching her.

She stepped away from the Camaro, hands up in innocence, head tilted to the side with her blonde curls swept back behind her. “I'm not here to nag you into becoming our Alpha; I just need a ride home,” she stated without prompting, heartbeat steady, scent free of guilt or any sort of devious motives.

Derek paused in front of her, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he peered down at her, not entirely sure if he believed her or not. Wouldn't she normally have some other ride home? Clearly had to if she made it to school in the first place, not to mention all the years of heading home before he'd showed up.

“Really?” he questioned dubiously, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at the blonde.

She sighed as she slumped, cocking a hip out as her own arms folded under her ample chest. “Yes,” she replied with a hint of offense that anything else would be the truth. “Boyd usually drives us but he and Isaac have cross country try-outs and I don't feel like sitting around school being bored and I am not about to ride the bus with a bunch of freshman—” She sneered at the word like it personally offended all of her senses at the same time. “So I'm stuck without any sorta ride. Hook me up?” She clasped her hands in a pleading fashion and held them under her chin, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

Another sigh left the Alpha as he rolled his head, trying like hell to find a way to get out of helping her. But all he could think of was Melissa's voice chastising him for being rude and that she didn't raise him that way, followed up by his dad giving him stern pointers on how to treat females and Omegas and to be respectful and kind to them at all times—unless they were an asshole, he'd added with a wink. And since Erica hadn't actually done anything to be considered an asshole—apple core tossing aside—she obviously fell into the category of Females to Be Treated With Respect.

Crap.

Gazing about the lot, he found Stiles, Scott, and their friends all gathered around a few cars, including a powder blue Jeep he recognized from the driveway next door to Maria's house. The tan Alpha was leaning back against the trunk of a silver Porsche, a blond male with a sharp jawline and even sharper eyes seated next to him, although he was being ignored in favor of the Alpha chatting with—of all the students in the school—Stiles.

Seriously.

Fucking. Hell.

An idea formed in his head and he turned back to Erica with a slight curl to one side of his lips, devious glint no doubt in his eyes and his scent. “I'll give you a ride on one condition,” he agreed, gripping the strap of his backpack with one hand as it hung off his shoulder, pointing to the group of juniors. “Who's the tan Alpha?”

Erica followed his direction, snorting when she recognized who he was gesturing to, sneering slightly. “Like I would know who any juniors are,” she scoffed, heart skipping a beat with the lie.

Derek sighed again—terrible fucking habit he was forming—rubbing at his forehead in frustration. “I can hear your heartbeat so I know that's a lie,” he pointed out flatly before dropping his hand to his side. “And even if I couldn't, you said you guys were looking for an Alpha who wasn't a junior, leading me to believe that you already knew who all the Alphas in the school are.” He fixed her with a steadfast look that dared her to argue with him and prove him wrong, Alpha or not, and she crumpled under the weight of it, head tilting to the side again.

“Okay, fine,” she gave in before huffing and raising her head. “Danny Mahealani. Nice guy, killer dimples, apparently has a better six-pack than Budweiser, although that's whatever, I'm more of a Miller girl myself.” She smirked at that before waving it all away with a flick of the wrist. “Anyway, he and Isaac were, like, nearly a thing last year until Isaac closed that door and now he's with this guy Ethan.”

The Alpha felt his heart speed up at that info, hope flaring up inside of him. Danny was with someone else? Meaning that he had zero claim on Stiles and wouldn't fight if anyone else tried to mark the Omega as theirs?

“Ethan?” he croaked out, clearing his throat of the emotional lump that had formed, willing his wolf to calm its furry as it bounced around in his head.

“Mmhmm,” she chirped, turning back to him. “One of the Beta twins, but don't ask me which one,” she quickly suggested, hand held up in a stopping motion before dropping it. “I honestly can't tell them apart until one of them is sucking face with Danny or Lydia.”

Both of his brows perked up at that, shit becoming even better for him. Because not only was Danny no longer a viable option for Stiles' affections, but so was Lydia, the redhead the Omega was smitten with.

Not than any of it meant that Derek actually had a chance with Stiles. Feelings had to be returned in order for that to happen.

And right on cue, his mind brought up the image of Stiles halfway presenting himself against the side of the Camaro.

Okay, so maybe the feelings were returned, but that didn't mean Derek was gonna act upon them.

“So,” Erica began sharply, bouncing on her toes as her scent lit up with excitement, white teeth sinking into red lips as she grinned. “Now that I've done you a favor, you can do me one.”

Derek frowned at her, unable to believe the gall of this chick. But he had to admire her moxie and the way she went after what she wanted, even in the face of multiple rejections. Took a lot of guts and an incredibly thick skin to do that. “The favor was giving you a ride,” he pointed out, slipping his keys out his pocket and sorting through them.

“Okay, fine, another favor,” she amended with an overdramatic full body sag, eyes rolling behind dark shadow. “Be my Calc tutor? Please.” She turned the begging face on him again, hands clasped under her chin once more, and Derek suddenly felt back for the girl's parents. Clearly an only child if she was so used to getting her way with just a pouty lip and some begging hands.

But he could work it to his favor, much like he had when he'd gotten info on Danny—and inadvertently Lydia. And said info had put him in somewhat of a good mood—as good a mood as he ever got in recent times at least—so he decided to indulge her.

Kind of.

With his own terms, of course.

“If you, Isaac, and Boyd all stop your hints, your suggestions, your innuendos, your implications, and your flat out requests for me to be your Alpha,” he agreed, arms crossed as he stared down at her with hard eyes, letting them flash red briefly.

The brief glance of crimson worked, Erica tilted her head in supplication once again, a heavy sigh leaving her. Her lips twisting in annoyance, brown eyes narrowing as she thought it over, body sagging with another sigh. “All right,” she agreed lowly before rising up to her usual stance, eyes peering up through mascared lashes to meet his. “No more asking or hinting or whatevering you into being our Alpha and you help me in Calc because math is seriously a foreign language to me and it's not one I understand.”

“Deal,” he stated, hand held out towards her and she shaking it in the human custom of reaching an agreement. Terms set, Derek unlocked the doors to the Camaro with his key fob, moving to step around the engine.

“Think we can start today?” she questioned as she opened the passenger door, watching him move. “I have no clue what the hell Kali was talking about in class. I live up to my hair color when it comes to math, I swear to god.”

The Alpha was about to agree as he opened his door, only to remember the state of his room—or, more accurately, the state of his bed sheets. Not exactly something he wanted anyone to witness and he'd yet to buy replacements for them, something he needed to do ASAP before Melissa or Maria found out and he was stuck answering a whole bunch of questions he didn't wanna answer and dealing with a whole lotta Spanish-tinged judgment over what he was and habits he couldn't control.

Wasn't like he'd wanted to wake up in shredded sheets and practically swimming in his own come.

God, it was gross to even think about it.

He hoped the mattress was okay. He definitely couldn't afford to replace that. Worst case scenario, he'd flip it over and hoped it worked.

“I actually gotta run a couple errands,” he replied vaguely as he opened the driver's door, belatedly remembering he also had to stop and get gas. Shit, his wallet was just bleeding that day, wasn't it?

“I'll come with!” Erica volunteered brightly, bouncing on her toes again as she grinned widely over the roof of the Camaro. “Not in the mood to go home and running around town doing boring stuff sounds a whole lot better than what's waiting for me there.”

He wondered what exactly it was that she was avoiding, before deciding he really didn't wanna go there. Erica's life was her own and he wasn't a part of it—at least not a big part beyond being a classmate and now an apparent tutor. He wasn't getting involved in anyone's shit, not anymore. Besides, finding out about that meant finding out about Erica as a werewolf and that further led to attachments and relationships and all the shit he was avoiding.

So rather than trying to get answers, he gave in, nodding at her before sliding in behind the wheel.

The blonde let out a squeal, bouncing in place as she clapped her hands and slipped inside the Camaro, tossing her bag into the backseat and shutting the door. “All right, Alpha-Man, let's get the fuck outta here.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at the stupid nickname before bobbing both in dismissal. The sports car roared to life with the turn of a key and a quick glance out the windshield found him making eye contact with an already staring Stiles, the Omega watching them with sad eyes and downturned lips. The Alpha didn't hesitate to put the car in reverse and peel out the parking space then the lot, putting as much space between himself and the younger man.

Better than trying to find out what exactly that upset look was about.

And even more better than trying to replace the sad expression with a happier one.

Erica gave him a curious look, manicured eyebrow cocked at him, but he ignored it, focusing on the road and his destination.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Wal-Mart was about a ten minute drive from the school, during which Erica scrolled through Derek's iPhone and judged him loudly over his musical taste, mentioning artists he'd never heard of that he apparently “needed to check out, like, soon before you die of blood loss out your ears from all this screaming manpain”. He ignored her suggestions, snapping his device back and dropping it into the cubby hole on his door, scowling at her in a way that didn't seem to intimidate her in the slightest.

The trip around the store itself took longer than necessary, despite the twosome heading straight for the housewares department and Derek finding a set of black sheets to fit his bed almost immediately, snatching up a set of curtains as well on a spur of the moment decision. But then Erica decided they needed to stroll around and check out the other aisles, spending an obscene amount of time in the Halloween section picking up this decoration and that costumed hat without actually keeping something to purchase. She did, however, fill his basket with various packs of funsize candies, informing him that they'd need snacks in order to study. Which then led to him being dragged to the grocery section of the store and having his basket filled further with a plus sized jar of peanut butter, a pack of Oreos, three different kind of pretzels, four flavors of Pringles, and a six pack of Mountain Dew bottles.

Derek stared down at the overflowing basket with a small sense of awe, cocking an eyebrow as he turned his attention to her. “Where the hell are you putting all this stuff?” he questioned dubiously, thinking of that show about humans who weighed over 600 pounds and needed special surgery because they ate crap like that all day.

She just grinned at him, brown eyes sparkling in delight. “Werewolf metabolism is a beautiful thing, huh?” she asked back, winking as she pat his stomach then flounced off down another aisle to grab a box of Cheez-Its.

The Alpha wound up paying for all of it, Erica spending more time flipping through a gossip mag that paying attention as they were checked out, and he mentally winced at the dent it was putting in his savings account. Shit, he'd probably have to get a job soon. He was able to get away with not having one back in New York since he was practically always busy with some sports practice or another. But having given those up meant he had no excuse to not gain employment somewhere, cringing at the thought of having to be social and deal with people as he worked for a living.

The ride to his house was spent with Erica singing along to someone called “Lorde” that she played from her own iPod, head bobbing back and forth as she texted on her cell phone, one with a sliding keyboard that Derek hadn't seen in a long time. He shoved the observation aside though, knowing not everyone had a smartphone like himself, instead hoping like hell no one else was at his house so he wouldn't have to deal with a thousand questions over Erica and her presence.

For once, the universe shone down on him, the driveway empty—as was the Stilinski's and he ignored the way it made his wolf howl when he noticed a lack of powder blue Jeep—and no heartbeats inside the house. The twosome both carried the bags up to his room, Erica wrinkling her nose in disgust as she reached the top of the attic stairs.

“Jesus, Alpha-Man, how many times did you guys fuck?” she grimaced as she placed the plastic bags on his desk and dropped her messenger one on the floor beside it.

Derek felt his ears grow hot as he flushed, putting his own wares next to the ones she'd handled, cursing werewolf noses. “No clue what you're talking about,” he muttered out the lie, knowing his heart was more than likely giving it away.

The blonde snorted as she slipped off her leather jacket, revealing the teal corset she wore underneath, the lack of straps making it dress code inappropriate. “Oh please,” she scoffed, dropping her jacket onto her bag and folding her arms under her chest. “This place reeks of sex, come, and Omega and you are seriously acting like you don't know what I mean?” She let out a disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. “I may be blonde, but I'm not that dumb.”

The Alpha removed his own jacket, placing his with care on the back of his desk chair before digging through the bags. “There was no sex,” he informed her, hating how his blush spread to his cheeks, hating that he was actually having to give away details of his sex life—or lack thereof really. In New York, Kate was constantly sharing the more intimate details of their relationship to her friends, leaving practically nothing sacred and secret between them, something that had made him incredibly uncomfortable. But when he'd asked her to stop, she'd scoffed at him and told him that he should be glad she was bragging about how good he was in bed, that it could've been worse.

Didn't make him all that okay with it though.

Because for him, sex should be something between two people and no one else. Didn't matter if someone knew he was getting laid or not, but the details of it all, the acts themselves and what occurred during them, that should be kept private.

Yet there he was, having to be open about his own sexual activities with a girl he barely knew and honestly didn't want to know all that well.

“I, uh,” he continued, pausing to clear his throat and hating how awkward he felt, hating how her eyes were glued to him, brow knit and lips pursed in focus and curiosity. “I had a dream last night.”

She smirked at him, red lips twisted up to one side. “Must've been some dream then,” she commented salaciously, scent flooded with mischief and delight. “But I'm still smelling Omega in here. A familiar one at that.” Point made, she swung a foot around and began meandering around the room, scenting the air as though trying to place the exact smell and why it was there in the first place.

Shit.

With a sigh, Derek pulled out the package of sheets he'd been trying to find, tossing them on the desk before crossing over to his bed. “Scott's best friend is an Omega, one who happens to live next door,” he explained, tossing his pillows onto the floor before setting to work snatching up the ruined sheets. “He helped move this mattress in before I came here and he's been in this room a couple times.” Sheets balled up between his fists, he paused, staring down at the mattress. The scent of his come was still embedded in the mattress itself, his mind flashing back to the reason why it was there, the dream he'd had of sinking his teeth into a pale neck as he knotted a lean frame.

“He also happens to be in our math class,” he muttered, tossing his sheets towards the stairs before smearing a hand over his face.

“I knew it!” Erica cheered, pointing at him and smirking in victory. “He's the reason why you got pissed at Danny earlier, isn't he? You have a thing for the sheriff's kid.”

Derek didn't say anything, which was probably as much an answer as actual words.

Picking the ruined sheets up, she slipped a hand through a tear in the fabric, still grinning wide, that devious scent swirling about her. “So what exactly did you two get up to while he was in here?” she questioned with a wag of the eyebrows.

He snatched the sheet away, grabbing the second and hurling both down the stairs to be taken care of later. “Nothing,” he stated harshly, teeth gritting, jaw set. “It's not—I don't—” He huffed as he struggled to come up with the right words, hands on his hips and shaking his hanging head as he drew a blank.

Erica pointed a finger at him in warning, one hand on her own hip. “If you tell me you don't want him like that, I'll punch you, Alpha or not,” she warned before sauntering over to the desk and dropping down on the chair with a plop. “No one gets that aggravated over another Alpha hanging all over an Omega unless they themselves want the Omega,” she explained as she rummaged through the bags, pulling out the peanut butter and a bag of pretzel sticks. “You got all old-school territorial over him, which clearly means you want in his tight li'l maroon pants, so why you're denying yourself is beyond me.” Leaning back, she crossed her ankles on top of the desk, opening the snack packages and scooping out some peanut butter with a pretzel before chomping it down.

Derek knew exactly why he was denying himself, why he was refusing to open himself up to even the possibility of getting into Stiles' tight li'l maroon pants, as she'd so delicately put it. It was the same reason why he didn't want a pack, why he had been trying to find somewhere less populated to turn during full moons, why he'd called his mother “Melissa” the previous night. He was done with emotional attachments and letting people get close so he could be ripped wide open when he lost them.

And he was clearly doing a fucking terrific job, considering the other werewolf currently lounging in his room and his obsession with the Omega next door.

God, he was fucked.

“Can we talk about something else?” he groaned, scratching his jaw and feeling the roughness of his stubble. “Anything else?”

The blonde swallowed, digging out another pretzel stick and scooping it in peanut butter like all the others. “We can talk about why you moved to Beacon Hills.”

He scowled down at his mattress, absently deciding it would be better to not sleep on that side of it, consciously deciding he didn't like that conversation topic either. “I'd rather talk about Stiles,” he grumbled, reaching down and lifting up his mattress to flip it over.

“I was just gonna tell you that I get it,” she stated, pausing to bite half a stick off, chew, then swallow. “My folks died in a wreck when I was nine so I understand a little of what you're going through, that whole losing your pack and your Alpha thing.”

Derek paused his movements, staring down at a flipped yet askew mattress, hands hanging loosely by his sides. His chest felt tight at the reminder of his loss, the pain still fresh even all those months later. And while he knew that it wasn't possible for him to be the only person out there who'd suffered through their Alpha being taken from them, it was still a punch in the gut to hear it from another mouth.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, not knowing what else to say, hating how superficial the words were and wishing he had something better to tell her.

She shrugged a shoulder before flipping blonde curls behind it, rummaging through the bag again. “You go on,” she commented, scent carrying a note of sadness and grief, yet a resolve and acceptance of her lot in life. “I was just lucky to have my grandma so I didn't completely lose all my family, ya know?” Pausing, she put the snacks on the desk and rummaged through for a drink, snapping a bottle off the plastic rings. “Me, Boyd, Isaac, we all come from shitty places, we all have shitty backstories, but it's okay, 'cause we have each other. We made our own pack.”

Turning his head, he saw the wistful smile she gave the bottle in her hands, not seeming to notice—or care—that she was being watched. Her thumb absently stroked along the label, the condensation smearing with the actions, and she let out a breathy laugh.

“I dunno, I guess it's part of the reason why we keep bugging you to be our Alpha,” she admitted quietly, running a hand through her hair. “Because we get it, what you've been through. And we thought it'd be a win-win, that we'd get the Alpha we've been looking for and wanting, and you'd get people who understood where you were coming from and could maybe help you rebuild a pack you lost.” She looked up at him at that, brown eyes carrying a glaze of shine that hadn't been there before, tears being held back as she shrugged a shoulder. “Wishful thinking I guess.”

He slowly nodded once, taking in her words and mulling them over, not breaking eye contact with the female who'd seemed so strong and resilient before but now looked so broken and fragile. His heart clenched in his chest, part of him glad he'd found someone who got it, who understood the pain of loss and the agony of a parent, an Alpha, taken too soon.

And for some reason, he thought of Stiles, of the Omega's apology and how he'd brought up the loss of his own parent and how he should've known better than to push the way he had. Erica wasn't the first person Derek had met who'd suffered like he was, and she was most likely not gonna be the last.

“I don't want a pack,” he said thickly, not bothering to swallow away the lump in his throat or hide the rawness of his emotions. “I don't want any attachments to anyone. It'll only hurt worse when they're ripped away from you.”

It was the first time he'd admitted it out loud, but the gravity of it all was lost on him. Because Erica was pressing her lips together in a hard line and ducking her head, nodding as she sniffed, her scent flooded with rejection and upset.

“I get it,” she whispered, her own voice thick. “I was the same way when I was a kid, not wanting anyone around, doing the whole cliché lone wolf thing.” She lifted her head and it was like she was a different girl again. Gone were the unshed tears and the upset scent, replaced by a determination that she frequently wore like her corseted tops and dark eyeshadow. “But you're still gonna tutor me,” she decided, pointing at him. “A deal's a deal. And one day, you may just change your mind about not wanting a pack.” She cocked an eyebrow daringly at him before twisting open her soda and drinking.

Derek just rolled his eyes and adjusted his mattress so it was squarely on top of the box spring, dismissing the latter half of her statement. He wasn't changing his mind, not for anything.


	10. Change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter notes so bear with me: first of all, apologies for the delay. Blah blah Big Bang, blah blah life happened, blah blah too busy, blah blah blah. I feel like you guys know the drill by now. And I truly am sorry for the wait between chapters.
> 
> Which brings me to this: I'm reformatting the way I do fics. Cause it was pointed out to me that it's a little ridiculous that I can write a 100+K fic for a Big Bang in about a month (literally did that, it was ridic and never again, I cried so much, oh god the break downs!) yet I can't update 7-11K chapters in a reasonable manner (which again, my apologies. I'm the worst at updates and I'm aware and I'm sorry). So, instead of just writing it a chapter at a time and updating as chapters are written, I'm just gonna sit and write an entire fic all the way through and then update periodically in a more timely fashion. I'm hoping this will mean less time between updates and less continuity errors (which make my eye twitch when I go back and reread old fics and see that I've repeated phrases and such. Urgh.)
> 
> That being said, this fic is number two in my line of priority writings, since I have Camp NaNoWriMo happening this July and I'm using that to work on my next Big Bang (two fics, one stone, or some bull like that). Meaning this fic won't be updated until at least August. But considering my last update for this was March, I feel like that's not that bad... Maybe?
> 
> Anyhoo, any questions/comments/concerns about my new plan or any writing or just wanna say hi, then feel free to send me a message on my tumblr (username: kitstiles) or twitter (charwright5). Until then, hope you enjoy the update :) OH! And be on the lookout for a new Sterek fic from me being posted on July 1st as part of Teen Wolf Bigbang!! (shameless self promo ftw!!)
> 
> PS mad at Derek for totally changing the plot of this thing. Again. URGH!

Derek managed to get the bed made back up in about five minutes, all the while Erica went back to munching on peanut butter dipped pretzels. Task done, the blonde flopped on her back on the bed, nose wrinkling at the scents her actions caused to drift up: the factory-stale smell of the new sheets, the must of the old mattress, Derek's own smell, his dried come, the small hint of Omega that still lingered deep within the fibers of the mattress.

He grumbled about crumbs in his sheets, Erica answering with a middle finger and an Oreo tossed at his head. His response was to give her a stern glare, resisting the urge to flash his red eyes and use his Alpha status to make her bow down. Because he refused to be one of those Alphas who used his status to get his way and excuse his controlling asshole behavior. Not to mention the fact that she'd use the action to further demand that he be an actual Alpha and lead the misfit pack she had with her two friends, insisting that it was proof of him wanting to be their Alpha, in her own twisted way.

So instead, he just huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes before returning to his bags of purchases and pulling out the curtains, only to realize there was no rod to hang them. A search of the storage side of the attic proved victorious when he actually found one—complete with screws still in their holes—and he got the thing up and the curtains hung in no time, all the while Erica stuffed her mouth with peanut butter dipped Oreos—which apparently was a thing—and yammered on about Boyd being her Mate and how she'd realized that fact upon their first meeting because “you just know, ya know?”

Derek stared at her flatly before climbing down off the bed and striding over to the desk. “No, I don't,” he grunted as he snatched up their school bags. And while the statement didn't feel like a lie, his wolf still grumbled inside his head, a flash of whiskey-colored doe eyes, mole-speckled skin, and citrusy sweet scent hitting him.

“Really now?” Erica questioned dubiously from where she continued to lay sprawled out on the bed, eyebrow cocked in question, red painted lips curved up on one side in a devious smirk. He barely knew the girl but was already fully aware that that particular grin meant trouble. “So the sheriff's kid—”

“Is a nuisance and a pain and nothing more,” he grumbled before tossing her messenger bag on her exposed torso and making her curl up as she grunted out an “oomf!” at the impact. “Homework,” he ordered, being sure to keep the Alpha-tone out of his voice as he pointed at her things then sat on the bed by the wall, pillows shoved up behind his back.

Her reply was nothing but a mock salute and a satire of a serious scowl, one he felt was deliberately mocking his own grave expression more than anything, as she sat up, opened packages of Oreos and peanut butter carefully placed beside her. The two set to work, Derek explaining what they'd went over in class that day, having to go back and reteach things they'd learned in their previous math class the year before. It was slow going at first, but Erica finally caught on, although she continued to interrupt with almost every problem of their homework.

Voices and heartbeats drifted into the room after about an hour or so of working, Erica drowning them out with songs from her iPod on her “continuing quest to get you to listen to real music”. The Alpha had just grunted, deciding it was easier to just let her do whatever than argue, allowing him to focus on his own school work.

Until, of course, her battery was barely more than a red sliver and she'd whined and begged and pleaded to borrow a charger.

Calc work done, they both moved on to homework from other classes. Soon enough, the scents of dinner being cooked drifted up and broke him out of the zone he'd been in while reading his history assignment. Lifting his head, he realized that the sun was setting, the room bathed in orange light, the curtains he'd installed having been left open—another thing done to get the Beta on his bed to quit whining.

“Should probably head out, huh?” she suggested, arching her back to pop it from where she'd been hunched over her own text book as she sat with her legs crossed in front of her. “Think you could give me a ride?”

Cracking his neck, he closed his book and set it on the pile beside him before nodding his ascent. A genuine smile formed on her face as she reached over and smacked his outstretched legs, loudly cheering “thanks, Alpha-man!” He scowled at the term, just like he had the other twenty-seven times she'd called him that over the afternoon, following her lead as she rose off the bed.

Her school things were quickly packed up, arms slipped through her jacket, strap of her messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Satisfied she'd gathered everything, the twosome headed down the stairs to the main floor, Derek sliding on his own jacket as they went. They turned to head to the front door and leave, only to be stopped by a familiar elderly female voice.

“Where have you been, lobito?” Maria questioned, hands on her hips, floral apron tied around her waist, dishtowel hanging from one hand. The scents of beans, ground beef, and warm tortillas drifted out from her spot in front of the kitchen door, alerting him to the fact that it was burrito night. But past the smells of the food were the scents of everyone else occupying the kitchen, causing his hackles to raise and his wolf to prick its ears in interest.

Melissa. Scott. The fucking sheriff. Stiles.

As if summoned by his nose, the foursome gathered around the Delgado matriarch, Melissa cocking a hip and crossing her arms, eyebrow raised in an expectant and judging manner. Scott scowled from the other side of Maria, Stiles a step behind and to the side, popping tiny cubes of cheese into his mouth, his own features morphing into something angry as his eyes settled on Erica. Derek gave a half-second's worth of thought into the Omega's reaction before flicking his eyes to the opposite side of the group, settling on John as he leaned against the doorframe in a casual manner, his eyes narrowed in an analytical manner, lips slightly parted and displaying his bottom teeth, wrinkles more pronounced on his forehead as he frowned as though he was figuring out a puzzle.

The Alpha felt a growl rumble up in his throat but bit it back, choosing instead to glare at the unwelcome guest, questioning what the hell he was doing there. One would think the guy would've learned his lesson about meals in that house after his last one, but apparently not. Instead, he'd decided to show back up, to march into Derek's territory...

Wait. Not his territory. His current living situation was only temporary. That fact had clearly slipped his mind for a brief moment there.

But still. The guy didn't need to show his mug around Derek or where Derek was staying at the moment.

“Lobito?” Maria prompted, tilting her head forward slightly, eyebrows raising in expectation. Right. She'd asked a questioned. And given the audience, he was now obligated to actually answer. Terrific.

He kept up an air of nonchalance as he pointed to Erica with his thumb. “We were in my room studying,” he answered flatly, honestly, dropping his hand and shrugging like the no-biggie it was.

Maria's eyes widened in surprise before returning to their normal size and switching over to the mentioned guest. She looked Erica up and down, lips pinched and eyes narrowed as she analyzed the Beta female.

Melissa's expression mimicked her mom's for a moment before she shook herself out of it, hand running through her curly hair as she sighed. “I didn't know we were expecting another guest—”

“I didn't know we were expecting any guests,” he pointed out sharply, giving a pointed, angry glare in John's direction.

Her eyes narrowed momentarily, clearly not happy with her son's behavior or attitude, but unable to really lay into him like she wanted due to the fact that they had company. “But I'm sure we can find a place to fit you,” she wrapped up, polite smile aimed at Erica as she played the role of gracious hostess.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Mrs McHale. Derek and I actually have dinner plans elsewhere,” Erica courteously declined, sporting a friendly grin of her own as she wrapped her arms around one of Derek's.

The Alpha peered down at her with an eyebrow cocked in confusion, seized arm tensing up under her grip. He honestly had no idea what plans she was talking about, why the hell she was giving him an out, why she was grabbing on to him like that. He also had no idea if he was okay with the contact or not, part of him itching to chew his arm off in order to get away from her, part of him—a part he attributed to his wolf and its desires for physical contact—relishing it, practically purring inside.

A sharp scent of something spicy and angry had his head raising, just in time to see Stiles turn away with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, fingers curled into tight fists as he stalked back into the kitchen. Scott glared momentarily at his older brother before following his best friend, John watching the boys leave with a confused expression.

Derek felt his own curiosity pique at the event but shoved it aside, deciding it wasn't any of his business really. Whatever Stiles was thinking or feeling wasn't any of the Alpha's concern and to inquire about such would be contradicting the fact that he didn't care, as well as being counterproductive towards his goal of making the Omega hate him and stay away.

He ignored his wolf's whimpering, just like he had been for the past...however fucking long he'd known Stiles. Dumb animal obviously had no clue what was good for both it and the human half of him.

“Well, then,” Melissa began then paused, drawing her eldest son's attention. A smile was plastered on her face, one that didn't quite reach her chocolate eyes, clearly there for show and to hide the discomfort and confusion she was feeling. Strange to think there'd been a time when he'd be demanding to know what had upset her and offering to destroy whatever it was, to try and fix things somehow, someway. Now, he wanted nothing more than to just get the fuck out of that house and away from...well, everyone really.

“I guess have fun, you two,” she wrapped up, clasping her hands with a clap, allowing them to drop in front of her, fake smile still on her face.

“Thanks, Mrs McHale,” Erica replied with a grin that was more genuinely, turning to the only other werewolf in the room and patting his shoulder. “Let's go, Alpha-Man. I'm starved.” With that, she unwrapped her arms from around his and sashayed her way to the front door, waving her goodbyes over her shoulder.

Derek stood stunned for a moment, wondering how she'd so easily gotten them out that situation as well as how she could be starving considering the junk she'd shoved in her mouth throughout the afternoon. Bobbing his eyebrows in dismissal, he spun on a heel and followed her out, slipping his keys out his pocket and ignoring the murmuring of conversations behind him and Maria's Spanish grumblings as she shuffled back into the kitchen.

Door shut behind himself, he hurried on his way to his car, Erica keeping pace, typing away on her slide phone. He unlocked the doors with the key fob, waiting for her to round the back of the Camaro before grabbing hold of the door latch and opening it up.

She mimicked his actions, opening the passenger door before slinging her bag into the backseat and giving him a smirk. “You're welcome by the way,” she commented then slid inside the car, stunning him frozen again for a brief second.

He slipped in behind the wheel, looking at her with a cocked eyebrow. “For what?” he asked dubiously, sliding the key into the ignition and putting his seat belt on with a click, ordering her to do the same.

“Getting you out the house,” she pointed out with a “duh” expression while following his direction, phone beeping in her hand. She scanned the newly arrived text and giggled, typing a reply as she continued speaking out loud. “You seemed like you were about to rip someone apart or something. And since I'm pretty fond of your broody ass, I'd rather you not be in jail.”

He rolled his eyes as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. She was pretty much right about him being close to tearing into something, but he wasn't gonna acknowledge it. Although judging by the way she smirked at him, phone slid closed and laying on her lap, she was well aware that she was right.

“So what's the deal anyway?” she questioned as she rearranged herself so she was turned towards him, arm on the door, hand propping her head up. “Why all the hate aimed at our good sheriff?”

A snort blew out his nose without him even thinking about it, pulling to a stop at an intersection. “He used to date Melissa,” he grumbled, eyes narrowing as though John was on the other side of the windshield and he could glare the human into submission.

Erica called for a left turn before nodding slowly. “Okay. And who is Melissa exactly?” she questioned with a head tilt.

His jaw tensed slightly, hands tightening their grip on the wheel as he turned left. “My mother.”

“Ah. And what? You aren't too stoked your mom hooked up with people other than you dad?”

His teeth ground at that one, jaw working. His wolf rumbled a growl in the back of his head and he smeared a hand over his face, not all thrilled with his passenger's choice in conversation. “He—no, you know what? I don't need to explain shit to you,” he stated defensively, scowling in her direction, watching as she flicked a hand in dismissal.

“Fine, whatever. That's your deal. Just know that you're the only person in town who hates the guy.”

“I don't care,” he ground out, scowl now directed out the front window as he focused on the road.

She snorted, eyes rolling in his periphery. “Yeah. I get the feeling you don't care about a whole lot.”

A shrug of the shoulders was his only response. It was another thing he wasn't admitting she was right about, despite her knowing she was.

Her directions led them to a diner in what would be considered downtown Beacon Hills, the stereotypical 50s themed joint with shiny silver panels on the outside and wide windows. Derek could see the baby blue booths lining the walls inside, the counter with the pastel pink and silver stools for customers to sit at, framed kitschy art of old ads and LP covers. He was willing to bet a jukebox was playing “Surfin' USA” or “Rock Around the Clock”, the floors black and white checkered, the menu comprised of burgers and grilled cheese, fries piled high with chili and cheese, everything coming with an extra side of grease and brain freeze guaranteeing super thick milkshakes all the high school couples ordered with two straws.

It was the type of place he would've loved as a kid, begging his dad for a nickel or a quarter or whatever in order to play “Surfin' Bird” for the five-hundredth time and his dad indulging him, despite his mate's protests over that song giving her a headache. But now? Now his lips were pulling back in a sneer at the sight of the place.

Slipping off her seat belt, Erica turned to him with a questioning look, head tilted to the side like a curious pup. “You comin' or what?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, unable to believe she was actually being serious. “Or what,” he deadpanned, engine still running, hands still gripping the steering wheel.

Her eyes were rolled again, along with her entire head, before she leveled a hard look at him. “Then what exactly are you planning on doing with the rest of your night?” she asked as she folded her arms over her chest, eyebrows raised in what he figured was an authoritative manner. Or at least was supposed to be.

Smearing a hand over his face, he stared out the front windshield, not really having figured that out. Not that he'd even had time to figure it out, but whatever. At that point, all he knew was that he wasn't about to stay there.

But it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. He couldn't head home, not with the sheriff and Stiles and his scent there. He wasn't familiar enough with Beacon Hills to know of any hang out spots—not that he'd even wanna go to one, considering that meant socializing. And so far in his brief stay in that town, the only people who'd even tried to be social with him were Erica, Isaac, and Boyd—sorta Boyd anyway.

And Stiles, but.

Yeah, he didn't count. Pinning a guy against things and scenting him wasn't socializing. Neither was telling the guy to “fuck off”—not in those exact words, but the meaning had been there.

He shook his head to snap out of it, hand sliding through his hair. 'Course his mind would go to fucking Stiles while trying to think of something else. There was something seriously wrong with him, with his mind. He needed to fucking get over it, get himself together, and just...Just be normal.

Turning to his passenger, he took note of her expectant look, the sassy raised eyebrow, the quirk of her lips that said she had made a damn good point and was waiting for him to admit it. “Drive around,” he stated the only thing he could think of, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly.

She rolled her eyes as she sighed exasperatedly, like what he'd said was so fucking stupid she couldn't even deal with it. “That's dumb.”

“That's logical,” he argued, if for no other reason than a stubborn refusal to let her be right, an explanation belatedly coming to mind. “I gotta find somewhere to shift on Saturday.”

“Which is what? Four days from now? You can wait one night,” she argued right back, mischievous smile forming on her face, scent shifting to something slightly devious and smug. “Besides, big Alpha like you's gotta eat, right?” With that, she leaned over and patted his stomach.

He swatted her away, scowling at her and sneering at the giggles she let out. “Don't do that,” he grumbled, hating how he sounded like a petulant child getting mad at his mom for spit-washing his cheek in front of his friends.

Which she'd done. He didn't talk to her for a day, which at the time had been a huge deal. While he'd been closer to his dad, he still really loved his mom and had always rambled non-stop about his day at elementary school every afternoon when he saw her. Eight year old him wouldn't believe that the eighteen year old version went a month and a half without saying a word to her and had called her “Melissa” to her face.

“My point still stands,” Erica claimed, drawing him back to the present. “You need to eat and you clearly aren't gonna do it at home with the sheriff and his kid being at your place. Might as well just join us.”

He let out a harsh sigh, roughing his face with his hands, seriously hating how she was right again, how she was able to read him so well despite barely knowing him. He thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping shit in, of hiding it away from the world and not letting anyone see what exactly was going on with him mentally and emotionally. Yet here was this female, reading him like a book, getting right to the core of him.

Derek thought back to earlier that afternoon, to her stating that she'd been in his shoes, had acted out and pushed people away after losing her own parents, her own Alpha. Clearly she got what it was like, understood what he was going through. So it wasn't so much that she knew him, rather that she'd just been there, done that, and was able to recognize when it was playing out again in front of her. She was observant, smart in a way that contradicted her blonde bimbo exterior, and he was almost sorry he'd underestimated her.

He hadn't, however, underestimated her methods of persuasion and her refusal to back down until she'd gotten her way.

“Pleeeease,” she begged, leaning over the center console and resting her head by his shoulder. She peered up at him with her bottom lip sticking out in a pout and her hands clasped in traditional begging fashion. “We'll be good, promise. No Alpha talk, no pack talk, just food. Swear it.” Her bottom lip stuck out more and she batted mascara-ed lashes at him, even going so far as to let out a few small whimpers.

His own wolf began whining, recognizing and being upset by the distressed sounds of another of his kind, not aware that the noises were coming from someone who was actually okay, just really manipulative.

With a harsh sigh, Derek slammed his head back against his seat, grumbling out a “fine” before glaring down at her. “Just stop with the damn pouting and whining. You're driving my wolf nuts.”

“Yay!” Erica sat up with a giant grin, clapping her hands together as she bounced in her seat. His only response was to roll his eyes—something he was doing a lot that evening—while he killed the engine, the two then getting out the Camaro and heading to the front entrance.

The diner was exactly what Derek had predicted it would be, a smiling waitress in robin's egg blue uniform telling them to seat themselves while simultaneously giving him Grease flashbacks. “Rocky Robin” played from hidden speakers, framed yellowed ads for ten cent burgers and five cent milkshakes hung above an open alcove offering a peek into the kitchen, and a clock shaped like Elvis stood out on a back wall, his legs swinging back and forth in an imitation of his infamous pelvic moves as it ticked away the passing seconds.

Erica called out a “hey!”, waving her arm around wildly before grabbing hold of Derek and dragging him down the aisle between the counter and the row of booths. He quickly discovered what had caught her attention, finding Isaac sitting at a booth halfway down, Boyd turned around on the opposite side and smiling at the blonde as she skipped over. The curly-haired one went wide-eyed, jaw dropping as he caught sight of who she was pulling along, making the Alpha feel like a circus freak. He knew Alphas were a rare thing in Beacon Hills, but there was seriously zero need for the shocked and confused scents hitting him in the face.

The blonde dropped her hold when they reached the booth, putting a knee on the cushioned seat as she leaned over to kiss her mate on the mouth. Derek quickly averted his gaze from the saccharine sweet—and barf-inducing—PDA, focusing instead on the lean male to his left. Isaac was still staring up at him, scent full of surprise, lips remaining parted and eyes remaining wide. The Alpha raised both eyebrows in a silent question, giving him a pointed look that asked what exactly it was he was staring at. The expression was interpreted correctly, the curly-haired one shaking his head to snap out of it.

“Sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Just. Surprised to see you here.”

A snort left the elder male as he sat next to the younger, leather jacket and vinyl seat all creaking with the movement. “Surprised to be here,” he grumbled back, grabbing a menu from its spot behind a metallic napkin dispenser. Just as he'd figured, a whole lotta burgers, cheeseburgers, grilled cheese, chili fries, cheese fries, chili-cheese fries, all available in either human or werewolf proportions. At least the place was up to date with that.

A huff of a humored laugh gusted out the curly-haired one's nose, blue eyes darting to the couple across the booth from them, the twosome completely oblivious to the world around them. Derek internally snorted. Fucking mates.

“Lemme guess,” Isaac began, reaching over and rearranging the condiment jars, most likely a nervous tick if the tension in his shoulders were anything to go by, visible even through the black v-neck tee and maroon scarf combo he was sporting. “Erica batted her eyelashes and pouted and basically cajoled you into joining us.”

Derek snorted out loud this time, flipping the menu over and taking in the options for fountain drinks, internally debating if he was in the mood for caffeine or if he wanted a plain ol' water. “Something like that,” he muttered.

“She's like that. Don't think she knows the meaning of the word 'no'. At least not from us.”

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow at that, turning to the Beta, noting how he was now trying to get the label on the ketchup bottle perfectly centered and facing front. He ignored the obsessive-compulsiveness of his actions, choosing to focus instead on the conversation at hand, deciding the torture of actually talking to someone was being than the torture of watching the other Betas being sickeningly coupley. Lesser of two evils, he supposed.

“Which makes me wonder why you guys even need an Alpha in the first place, since she clearly seems to take to the role of boss-lady,” he pointed out, turning his attention back to the menu and bobbing his eyebrows. “And with great joy, too.”

“Having an Alpha is about more than just bossing people around,” Erica cut in, butt firmly planted in the seat, apparently finished doing whatever it was she'd been doing with Boyd. “It's about protection, about having someone that will always look out for your best interests and make sure that you're always taken care of.”

Derek stared at her with a dubious expression, eyes peeking through his lashes as he took her in without lifting his head from where it was bent over the menu. She was leaning over the table, forearms resting on chipped formica, a hand stretched in his direction without crossing that invisible line that marked his side of the table from her's. Brown eyes stared at him imploringly from behind heavy black shadow, almost begging with him to understand, to get what she was saying and also what she was leaving out. It was an unspoken plead to agree to be their Alpha, not technically breaking the guidelines they'd set forth for hanging out, but finding a loophole in it. Derek couldn't help but believe there were a lot more reasons than what she'd given for their need for an Alpha, reasons she wasn't sharing for whatever reason, yet he couldn't quite muster the energy or a fuck to give in order to ask about it.

“Besides,” she continued, face turning smug, smirk on her face as she leaned back and folded her arms over her chest, chin tilted up in a haughty fashion. “You clearly fit in with us given your choice in outerwear.”

He cocked an eyebrow at that, looking down at himself then glancing at the three other wolves at the table. Erica and Boyd both had on leather jackets, just like he was wearing, only their's were obviously made recently and to fit in with whatever fashion trend was happening at that moment.

Without a word, he slipped the jacket off and let it pool around him on the vinyl seat, ignoring Erica's brief cock of the eyebrow that said she knew what he was doing and he'd basically proven her right. Especially given the victorious tint to her scent.

Dammit.

“Wish I had a leather jacket,” Isaac muttered, breaking Derek's attention from the lone female, the curly-haired one looking forlornly down at the salt shaker he was spinning around on the table.

“You aren't cool enough to have a leather jacket,” Boyd deadpanned, features flat and stoic as he stared across the table at his packmate, who had lifted his head and began sputtering in protest.

“Boo is right,” Erica agreed, wrapping herself around one of her mate's arms as he grumbled about not being called that. “You couldn't pull it off. You've got too much of an angel face.” To prove her point, she reached over the table and cupped his chin, pursing her lips and making nonsense baby talk at him as she gently wagged his head back and forth.

Isaac scowled and swatted her hand away, muttering to himself about how he could pull it off and how he didn't have an angel face, all the while frowning down at the salt shaker he started back playing with. She simply sat back in her seat, wrapped around Boyd's arm again, as she cackled loudly, head thrown back and all. The larger Beta looked down at her with a smile pulling the corner of his lips, a sparkle in his dark eyes that Derek had never seen the male wear before, but had noticed it in his dad's eyes as he looked at his own mate. Love, pure and simple, the kind that made you believe that person was the most beautiful thing on the planet and that they were perfect despite or because of all their flaws and that you were the luckiest fucking being to ever exist solely because you had them with you and for some crazy reason, they loved you back.

Whiskey eyes flashed in Derek's mind, a brief moment spent wondering what that same sparkle would look like within them, how it would feel to look into those orbs to see it while they were focused on him. His heart skipped a beat before pounding doubletime, his skin tingling and his stomach fluttering with something he hadn't felt since he'd first laid eyes on Kate his freshman year. Only it was stronger now, more powerful, more visceral. He fully expected his stomach to just burst open there at that table and a million moths to come flying out, for his heart to pound and pound until it exploded, for his skin to practically vibrate right off his body and leave him bare and open for all the world to see what exactly was happening to him, inside him.

Although judging by the way Isaac was side-eyeing him and Boyd was peeking over with a cocked eyebrow and Erica was flat out staring with a smirk, he had a feeling they knew anyway.

“Sheriff's kid again?” she asked, already knowing the answer, smugness polluting her scent.

Derek glared at her, barely resisting the urge to growl, instead letting his words rumble out through clenched teeth. “I will literally pay you if you never bring him up again.”

“Sweetie,” she started calmly, leaning forward and cupping his cheek with one hand. “You couldn't afford me.” She patted his cheek twice before letting her hand drop and sliding back to her side of the table, still smirking.

The Alpha sighed hard through his nose, choosing to scowl down at his menu instead, wondering if maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to have stayed home to eat.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He was glad to have been wrong.

Dinner had been...well... Yeah, he had no idea how to put it into words. It wasn't fun exactly, since being social wasn't a thing he was all that happy to actually do and there were a thousand other things he'd rather do and places he'd rather be—some of which involved a certain Omega who thankfully hadn't been brought back up, but he was ignoring those choices for the non-options they were.

But it hadn't been the uncomfortable torture that eating at the Delgado-McHale place would've been. At no point had he felt like maiming and/or killing someone, even when Erica had repeatedly poked his cheek and told him in her annoying baby talk voice to quit looking like a pissed off constipation victim. At no point had he felt the urge to slam someone against a wall and scent them without their consent. At no point had he been overwhelmed by the desire to steal someone away and claim them or pound their face against the table for making him want to do just that. It had almost felt like having dinner with his friends back in New York.

Only...

And he was reluctant as hell to believe it and would never actually admit it out loud but it'd been...

Better.

Because he hadn't felt the need to impress anyone or put on some kind of show. He hadn't had to sit there and endure his girlfriend discussing private facts of their relationship and sex life—regardless of her intent behind those words. He hadn't had to suffer through people kissing his ass or talking him up about whatever shot he'd made in whatever game he'd just played. He hadn't had to pretend to be interested when others around him bragged about this chick or that hook-up or this car or that trust fund.

He'd listened to Erica complain about math and how she was convinced it was actually Satanic, practically yelling as she insisted that there was some YouTube video somewhere proving it. He'd watched Isaac constantly rearrange every item on the table so they were lined up perfectly and getting a panicked edge to his scent when things were moved and not put back in the exact spot they'd previously been in. He'd noted Boyd contributing to the conversation here and there, proving sage and wise and calm, with a way of carrying himself that went beyond his age—which Derek found himself asking what it was exactly and being surprised when the Beta told him he'd just turned eighteen over the summer.

And he'd found himself actually adding in his own thoughts, correcting Erica that the video she'd been referring to was math and biblical references to the president being the devil—which she'd then argued was the same thing, something that had Boyd shaking his head and Isaac rolling his eyes—commenting on his own morning runs when talk turned to Boyd and Isaac being on the cross country team, throwing in his own opinions on their current English reading assignment. He even found himself moving along with the pack and adjusting to them as the night wore on. He poked Erica back just as much as she poked him, rolled his eyes along with Boyd at whatever wild statements she was making, taking care to place the ketchup and salt and pepper shakers back exactly as he'd found them to ease Isaac's worry over them.

It was strange really, he thought repeatedly as he sat there eating his wolf-proportioned burger—a recommendation from Boyd, who'd ordered the same—finding himself actually somewhat enjoying himself while with other people, fitting in with them, more at ease than he'd ever been with friends he'd known his entire life, all while sitting amongst strangers he'd never wanted to meet much less hang out with. But he was. He was chuckling at jokes over Isaac turning into a grilled cheese if he kept ordering them, fist-pounding Boyd over witty insults at Coach Finstock's expense and a preference for Pizza Hut over Domino's, sharing his fries with Erica, who hadn't ordered anything but a Diet Coke—a fact Derek hadn't been all that surprised by, given the fact that she'd stuffed her face with junk all afternoon, only to later be surprised when she'd began stealing food from everyone else. It was the most comfortable he'd been with other people since his dad's accident and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Well, if he didn't count those moments when he had Stiles pinned up against something and was breathing in his scent, but he attributed that to just an Omega's ability to calm an Alpha. Biology and instincts and all that bullshit.

An hour after arriving at the diner, he was finding himself exchanging high-fives with Boyd and Isaac in the parking lot, being pulled into a hug by Erica, sloppy kiss placed on his cheek. His offer to give Isaac a ride home was turned down and he felt an odd mix of relief and disappointed, chalking the latter up to the realization that he'd have to go straight home and deal with the possibility of guests still being there. His wolf grumbled and he ignored it as always, agreeing to give Erica a ride home from school the next day for more math help, making her promise to keep up her No Asking About the Alpha Thing end of the deal.

All too soon, he was parking his Camaro on the side of the lawn and killing the engine. Stepping outside, he noted the lack of Sheriff SUV in the driveway next door, familiar powder blue Jeep in its usual spot. Tuning out the sounds of the outside world, he focused his hearing inside the house, catching four different heartbeats. John had apparently left and headed to work. Stiles had apparently decided to stick around.

And his evening had actually managed to turn into a good one, too.

With a heavy sigh, he steeled himself and headed inside, nose assaulted with the leftover scents of dinner, of the usual smell the home carried with it, of Melissa, Maria, Scott, John, Stiles.

His head automatically snapped to the left, to the staircase, where the scent trail was the strongest. Two heartbeats sounded down from that directions and when he listened closer, he could hear the familiar effects of their shoot-em-up video game, of their smack talking, of Stiles' laughter drowning out his buddy's.

Derek's hand was on the banister, foot on the stair, before he even realized what he was doing, only aware of his actions after his name had been called. He frowned in confusion, wondering when the hell he'd stepped over, when he'd decided to go upstairs, when he'd chosen to go find Stiles and snatch him up and take him to bed.

His name was called a second time and he fully snapped out of it, turning to find Melissa standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hip cocked, arms folded, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Dishes?”

Right. Shit. He'd forgotten. Hell, he was technically grounded—hence the nightly dish duty—but had still gone out, practically had permission to given the fact that he hadn't been stopped or told he couldn't. The whole thing had slipped his mind and probably had slipped hers, too, since he'd only been grounded the once and it was over a weekend so he could study for a make-up test he'd bombed and avoid academic suspension.

But the fact that he was doing extra chores—like all the dishes—as his main punishment was because he hadn't been going out, so a full-on grounding wasn't even an option. Or maybe it had been and that he wasn't actually allowed to go out to eat with other people, but she'd been so shocked that he was even going that it made her forget that he wasn't supposed to go.

Not that any of it matter. He'd gone and there was nothing she could do, except reinforce a “no going out” policy and extend his already undetermined grounding period. Not that it would be necessary. He'd only gone out because it'd seemed like a preferable kind of torment over having dinner with the Stilinskis.

Then again, there was always a chance of the neighbors having dinner with them again and Derek would be forced to make another choice as to who he'd rather be annoyed by. But considering how his night had gone, dinner with the pack hadn't been all that bad and was a more appealing option.

Not that he was gonna admit any of that out loud. Or even to himself. Not really anyway.

Instead, he just nodded once and headed into the kitchen, she moving out the way to let him pass. He set about filling the sink with water, soaking the sponge, grabbing the dishwashing liquid from its home in the cabinet below, slipping off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. The running water let him block out other noises in the house—more specifically ones drifting down from the upper floor—no longer plagued by heartbeats he wanted to feel against his own or laughter he wanted to help create with his own witty words—if he was even capable of witty words to begin with.

Maria yelling through that Melissa was about to miss “NCIS” was the only thing that alerted Derek to the fact that the younger female hadn't left his presence yet, was still in the same room. He peeked over his shoulder to find her standing in the same position, only now more in the kitchen, her aggravated and expectant look replaced by one of curiosity and wonder. He didn't think too much about it, didn't try to figure it out, simply shut the water off and grabbed the first dish he could reach and scrubbed.

“You have fun with your friend?” she asked cautiously, like she was afraid to ask, for reasons unknown. Then again, if Derek actually put thought into it, he probably could figure out why she'd be nervous to pose the question. Fear of her conversation starter being rejected. Fear of him snapping and growling and acting like a general Alpha werewolf douche. Fear of him further hurting her feelings and humiliating her by calling her by her first name.

He winced at that, glad she was still behind him and couldn't see his face, glad she was human and couldn't scent his embarrassment and guilt and remorse. He'd fucked up with that one. And despite all his posturing and his insisting that he didn't want any relationships with any person, the past few hours had made him question if that was what he truly wanted it.

Although, if he was being honest with himself—which he still wasn't—he'd been questioning that since he'd opened the door his first night in Beacon Hills and gotten a good whiff of Stiles' scent.

“Friends,” he corrected lowly while rinsing a plate, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. “And yeah.”

Surprise flooded her scent and he heard her clear her throat and run a hand through her hair. “Good,” she stated hoarsely, clearly her throat again then swallowing. “Glad to see you're making an effort to be sociable.” Her words were genuine, caring, sweet, and motherly, something he hadn't heard from her since about two weeks after his dad had died and she'd snapped herself out of her zombie coma, deciding to actually be a mom and not just hide out in her room. Scott had welcomed her with open arms. Derek hadn't. At that point, he'd begun pushing people away, had already shoved aside most of his friends, had alienated Scott, and Kate was even further out the door of their relationship than she had been.

Melissa's scent shifted again, from happiness at her son potentially breaking out of his shell, to anger and bitterness over the fact that he was still wrapped up in it. “Maybe you'll extend that behavior to people inside the house,” she snarked, turning on a heel and preparing to stomp out the kitchen. Well, stomp out as much as one could when wearing fuzzy slippers.

Derek felt a surge of panic and worry swell up inside, causing him to drop the bowl he had in his hand back into the water before spinning around to catch sight of her retreating back. For some reason, he couldn't just let her leave, not on that note, not with her still pissed at him. Damned if he knew why, but his night was apparently full of big emotional changes. Why not add another?

“Hey, Me—uh,” he cut himself off with a wince, curling his fingers into a fist before shoving them behind his head then dropping it. She turned to him with her eyebrows raised and her mouth hanging open, disbelief rolling off her, like she was unable to fathom the fact that he almost called her by her name once more.

Shit.

Okay, he wasn't helping himself out in any way. He'd almost committed the same sin he was trying to atone for, all while trying to make it up to her.

Which.

Weird.

Fuck, his head felt scrambled up and he seriously had no idea what the fuck it was he wanted anymore, all thanks to an annoying blonde Beta and her annoying pouty red lips.

“Uh,” he stalled out, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for the other night, for calling her what he did, wanted to promise he wouldn't do it again. But he couldn't, not while being one-hundred percent sincere with it. Because he probably would do it again, whether accidentally or on purpose, he didn't know. But it was most likely to happen, just like it was extremely likely that his current sociable mood was a one-time freak thing, his wolf having more control over his emotional climate so close to the full moon and leading him to believe he was comfortable around other people solely due to his more animalistic side's need for pack. So he didn't say anything, didn't make insincere apologies, didn't make false promises. Just went with whatever bullshit came out of his mouth.

“Erica, the girl friend—well, the girl who is a friend. Kind of a friend, whatever. The girl I was with tonight that you sorta met?” he rambled, internally grimacing at how dumb he sounded. “She'll probably be hanging around a lot more. And stuff. So.” He wrapped it up with a shrug, feeling like a total jackass, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it now.

Although really, it wasn't like he didn't have a reason for telling her. She'd been surprised earlier at having a guest—or rather another guest, considering the Stilinskis presence—and he was just giving her a heads up to expect the blonde around more often. It was a courteous thing to do, really.

Still felt like a jackass though.

“Okay,” Melissa replied flatly, nodding once before plastering a tight smile on her face. “Good night, Derek.”

“Night.”

This time, when she turned and left, he let her, focusing once more on the dirty dishes he had to clean and a churning in his stomach that had nothing to do with salty fries and a greasy burger.

It took him about half an hour but everything was washed, rinsed, dried, and put in its proper place, allowing him to finally slink off to his room. His earlier sociableness had worn off, as had the good mood he'd been in at the diner, replaced with just fatigue and an overwhelming feeling of “done with it all”. He figured feeling like an asshole would do that to someone, that his guilt over his shitty behavior that he'd been ignoring all summer had finally caught up to him and was finally taking its toll on him. Had to happen eventually, he figured.

He climbed up the steps slowly, hand on the railing to help haul himself up, mind lost in a haze. The palm of his right hand dug into his eye as though it could help him get his mind right, help him readjust his priorities, help him figure out what the fuck was going on with him that evening. He'd started the day off not wanting to be around anyone, to having dinner with three Betas and enjoying himself, to wanting to apologize and right a wrong he'd done to Melissa. Shit was so much simpler when he'd first moved to town and acted like an asshole towards everyone.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that much simpler, he reassessed as a door open and he caught a whiff of citrus and sugar, the combination knocking the breath out of a him and causing a low rumble to form in the back of his mind.

'Mine.'

His head snapped up, hands dropping to his sides as he reached the top of the stairs, finding Stiles exiting the bathroom. The Omega still had a hand on the door knob, frozen in place, like Derek was a t-rex whose vision was dependent on movement. Or, more likely, he was considering fleeing back into the bathroom to lock the door and hide. Seemed logical, given the tense way he held his body, like he was ready to spring into action at a second's notice, and the fact that two of their previous encounters had ended with Stiles pinned against something hard as Derek scented him against his will.

Possibly against his will, his mind corrected.

No, definitely. Just because an Omega was yielding under an Alpha's actions didn't mean he was consenting. It was biology and instincts and all that shit they learned in Heat Ed, that was all. It had nothing to do with Derek or any potential attraction Stiles may have for the male himself. Just the fact that he was an Alpha with an Alpha's scent and an Alpha's knot and fuck, he needed to stop that train of thought because now all he could think about was how perfectly all right he'd be with letting Stiles just use him for his knot, how perfectly content he'd be for the rest of his life if he was nothing more than just Stiles' sex toy and a surrogate knot to help ease his heat.

God, he was so fucked when it came to this Omega brat.

Stiles swallowed hard and Derek's eyes tracked the movement of his adam's apple bobbing, wanting to trace it with his tongue, mark the pale flesh with his teeth. He wanted to lick every inch of him, to find out if his moles tasted different than the rest of his skin, to discover all the places where his scent was the strongest and the places that coaxed the most sounds out of that throat.

His cock twitched at the images his mind created, of Stiles sprawled naked in his bed, head reared back as moans escaped past his parted cupid's bow lips, legs spread as Derek scented him in his most intimate areas. He'd trailed his nose along where hips met torso, around his cock and over it, down between his cheeks before lapping at his hole, taking in that slick he naturally produced and making the Omega squirm in pleasure as he ate him out like a man starved and thirsted.

The citrusy sugar scent got stronger, joined by the spice that gave away the Omega's arousal. Derek's ears pricked at the sound of a pounding heart, eyes sliding up to see a tongue darting out to wet pink lips, to see pale cheeks flush, to see dark pupils dilate. Their eyes locked momentarily and the Alpha could hear the younger male's breath hitch, could see the tension increase as he tightened his grip on the doorknob not to ready an escape, but like he was holding himself in place. Derek had no idea why, what was stopping them, why he couldn't just let go and why he himself wasn't just marching over there and hauling the other male up to his room.

The moment was broken when Stiles' eyes flicked down, narrowing on something on Derek's cheek, a low rumble of a growl escaping past barely parted lips and his eyes flashing gold. The Alpha felt his cock twitch in his pants at the hint of the other man's wolfish nature, at the animal lying underneath, and he had flashes of thoughts of how to bring that side out him out more, only for it to all cut off when he inhaled the chemosignals he was giving off.

Stiles. Was pissed. He was angry, upset, fuming, embarrassed, self-conscious, and beyond it all, jealous.

And Derek hadn't a fucking clue why.

The younger man narrowed his eyes in his direction before shaking his head angrily and storming across the hall, slamming Scott's door behind him and muttering out halfhearted apologies to his best friend's objections. All the while, Derek stood there looking and feeling baffled, struggling to figure out what the hell had happened to make Stiles go from horny to furious in zero-point-two seconds.

Frowning in confusion, he slipped into the bathroom, ignoring the scents of Omega and Stiles and mine hanging around as he went straight to the mirror. And there it was, standing out like a neon red sign in a world of black and white: the imprint of a female's lips on his cheek.

Shit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Derek honestly had no clue how long he'd been laying there in bed. He remembered going there, remembered skulking out the bathroom like a scolded dog after scrubbing his cheek raw in order to get rid of Erica's bullshit smudge-proof lipstick that was damn near impossible to clean without a sand-blaster. He remembered trudging up the stairs, remembered stripping down to his boxer-briefs, remembered climbing on top of the bed and pulling the sheet over him as his wolf whimpered at him.

But most of all, he remembered laying there trying to figure out how to explain to Stiles that what he saw wasn't what he thought it was. Erica was apparently overly affectionate and incredibly tactile, showing her like for someone by constant pokes and prods and unwanted cuddles. She'd ruffled Isaac's hair countless times, wrapped herself around Boyd at practically every opportunity, squeezed Derek's face and making kissy noises at him at one point during the evening. The kiss on the cheek was nothing more than a friend saying goodbye, a friend who was in a happy and committed relationship with her mate.

He just needed to explain all this to Stiles and make him understand that it meant nothing, that he and Erica were nothing, barely even acquaintances and that all their time spent together was pretty much against his will and a result of severe coercion.

Yet...

Yet he stayed put. Yet he didn't get up to go find Stiles and talk to him. Yet he didn't make any plans to go to his house the next day, to wait for him before or after either of their shared classes, to hunt him down wherever and just...

Derek wasn't gonna do any of that.

And his wolf hated him for it.

But it turned out he didn't need to, because his door flew open and was slammed shut, because feet were stomping their way up his stairs, because a familiar achingly sweet citrus scent was flying up to his nose and pulling him. He shot upright on his bed, eyes wide as they watched Stiles appear at the top of the stairs in the same lame graphic tee/flannel shirt combo as earlier. That angry scent still hung around him like a cloud, his whiskey eyes narrowed, his jaw taught, his brow pulled into a scowl. Derek felt his cock jerk at the sight of it, briefly wondering why the hell he was finding a pissed off guy so fucking hot. But he was and he did and he wasn't about to question it, especially not when the younger man was ranting as his sneakers pounded against the wooden stairs.

“Look, you Alpha asshole,” he practically snarled as he breached the top of the steps, finger pointing at the Alpha asshole in question, wagging as though it could help him figure out his next line.

Derek couldn't do anything but sit there, eyebrows raised in expectation as he awaited the next insult, for the tongue lashing that was sure to come. Because that angry scent was in full force and he just knew he was about to get ripped a new one. Not that he didn't deserve it after all the shit he'd put Stiles through, which meant he'd sit there and take it, would accept all the angry words and bitter statements and probably way too true rude epithets he'd be called.

Only none came.

Stiles seemed to lose steam as he paused halfway to the bed, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scents of the room, eyes flashing gold as he groaned and his body went lax. The older man felt his brow furrow in confusion, completely enraptured with the slumping male before him, the way the teenager's eyes went heavy lidded, the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way his scent shifted from anger to arousal.

Fucking hell.

His cock practically shot up at that, getting so hard so fast it was pretty much painful. But he didn't care. He had an aroused Stiles in his bedroom only three feet away from his actual bed. And the Omega wasn't doing anything to hide his current state, wasn't trying to fight it, wasn't flushing with embarrassment or running off in humiliation. He was giving over to it, letting it happen.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed out, a flash of fang catching the older man's attention. “I wanna be pissed at you.”

Derek couldn't do anything but nod dumbly, eyes locked onto his mouth, on those cupid's bow lips and the hint of sharp teeth they revealed with each tiny movement.

“Your room smells like come,” he went on, the Alpha continuing with the stupefied nodding thing. He was well aware of what his room smelled like, had had it pointed out to him earlier that day by Erica, along with the fact that there was a slight hint of Omega underneath.

Of Stiles underneath.

“But just yours, no one else's.”

Derek nodded more, licking his lips, eyes still locked onto the teenager's. “You could change that,” he rumbled, voice husky, an octave lower than usual.

Another groan came from the Omega, a fresh wave of aroused scent punching Derek in the gut and knocking him senseless. He was glad he'd been sitting or he'd be on his ass from it, knees and legs no longer functioning the way they were supposed to.

His eyes drifted down, catching sight of a bulge hidden behind blue denim, one that hadn't been there when Stiles had first walked in. But now it was and Derek wanted it bare to his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He wanted to scent it, to lick it, to suck it, to try every trick he thought he knew and see which one turned Stiles into a blubbering, whining, pleading mess the fastest. He wanted to take the Omega apart bit by bit and put him together again with his knot, to join them together in the most basic way and never let him go.

Without a word, Stiles rushed over, rounding the end of the bed before standing over Derek and crashing their lips together. It was clumsy, hurried, spoke of a lack of experience and precision and it made Derek growl in pleasure. He parted the Omega's lips with his tongue and delved inside, tasted the sugar of his soda and the spice of his dinner and that one taste that could only be described as Stiles. It made his head swim, dizzy-drunk, and he needed more.

In a blur of movement, Stiles was on his back on the bed, Derek pressing down onto him. Clothes were torn off, both in too much of a hurry to worry about saving this or being careful with that, to take the time with buttons or zippers or whatever other stupid fastenings clothing designers figured were necessary but were really a fucking inconvenience when it came to getting his Omega naked.

But then he was and Derek had him sprawled on his bed, just like he wanted. Legs parted, head tilted back, fingers grabbing at the sheets as the Alpha ducked down and licked along his groin, nipped at his hip bones, sucked at his inner-thighs. He nosed behind Stiles' balls, scented him at his most pure and delighted at the groan he got in response to his growl.

“Der,” Stiles practically whimpered, blunt teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Alpha. Please.”

He was absolutely powerless before those words, that voice, that scent. He may have been physically stronger, faster, better in pretty much every way, but between them, Stiles was the one in control, that held all the reins, that wielded the power. And Derek would happily spend his life on his knees serving his Omega.

To prove that fact, he settled further between the other man's legs before bending them back, keeping a firm grip on the back of his thighs. Without hesitation, he leaned in and lapped at his hole, rumbling in pleasure at the taste. Stiles practically keened, hands flying to wrap around thick wrists, squeezing tight as though the grip would keep him together.

That wasn't gonna happen, not if Derek had anything to say about it.

He stiffened his tongue, slipping it inside his hole, thankful for an Omega's body and its slight stretching when aroused. He lapped all around it, inside it, swirled his tongue around and ate him out the way he'd only ever imagined. He sucked at the slick the teenager produced, swallowed it all down with a moan, his hips rolling and grinding his aching cock into the mattress on automatic.

Stiles' head thrashed about on the pillow, lips parted as he breathed out a litany of swears and groans, Derek's name a praise mixed in on occasion. His hips rocked up, his hole gripped him tight, trying to pull him in more, trying to keep him in. He was begging, pleading for more, to be filled, to be given his knot, please, Alpha, please. But Derek wasn't done tasting him, wanted more. He was being greedy, he knew he was, but he couldn't help it. He had a head rush and a sugar buzz all from the taste and he wanted to drink it all down, to make the Omega produce more to slicken his way. He wanted to make the other man come from just this and lap up what his cock gave out, wanted to taste everything Stiles had so that it would be left in his mouth for days, weeks, months, ruining his mouth for everything else.

His own hips ground down more, practically humping the mattress as he kept eating out his Omega. Stiles was crying out, sweat covering his pale skin and bringing a sheen to those beautiful moles. Claws were digging into Derek's wrists and when he peered up, he caught sight of the tiny fangs young wolves had. God, he couldn't wait til Stiles came of age, when he got his full fangs. He wanted them on his skin, sinking into his neck and marking him with the mate's bite, letting everyone around them know Derek was taken and by whom.

“Der. Close. 'M so close,” Stiles slurred, head reared back, long pale throat on display.

All Derek could do was hum in agreement, feeling his own balls drawing up tight, the tingle at the base of his spine alerting him to imminent release. But not before Stiles, not before his mate. With renewed vigor, he went at it, thrashing his tongue inside the other man, sucking at his hole, rubbing his stubble covered cheeks on two pale globes and marking him there. All the while, his own hips worked harder, drove him higher, closer, almost, almost...

His eyes flew open and his head jerked off the mattress as he came, inhaling deep on a gasp like he'd been drowning and was finally able to come up for air. His cock was pressed between his torso and his mattress, knot fully inflated as he tried to lock on to an imaginary partner, come spurting out and staining another pair of underwear. And his hands were trapped, tied up and tangled in the shredded remnants of another set of sheets.

Goddammit.

Body still on edge and vibrating from his ongoing orgasm, he raised himself up onto his elbows, taking in his surroundings. His alarm clock let him know that it was set to go off in about twenty minutes—convenient really, since that'd be the time he'd stop fucking coming—his pillows had been shoved to the floor, and his top sheet was nothing but shreds of fabric scattered about the place. His body was halfway down the bed, legs hanging off the edge from the knees down, and when he pressed his nose to the mattress, he caught a whiff of an even stronger scent of Stiles than had been on the other side.

Another large spurt of come rushed out as he groaned and writhed on the bed, hips rolling as his nose actively sought out even more of that smell. He didn't even bother trying to fight it, didn't bother questioning or arguing or hating himself. For once, he gave in to what his body—and his wolf—wanted, admitting to himself that all of him wanted it, too. The only thing he could really hate about the whole situation was how it wasn't actually Stiles beneath him, but an old, stale, diluted version of his scent.

His wolf whimpered in the back of his mind at the lack of mate being pressed against them and for once, he didn't ignore it or tell it to shut up or disagree. He just let out a low, muffled whimper of his own.


	11. Thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS LATE I KNOW I AM SORRY! As Marla Singer says in that movie the rules say we can't talk about (I have no idea about the book, I read it once and honestly can't remember most of it, just that I ended up confused, enlightened, and depressed all at once at the end), "here comes an avalanche of bullshit!"
> 
> Sterek Big Bang fic wound up being longer than I originally thought. What I figured would be an 80K max fic ended up at nearly 200K and I'm literally still adding to it with edits and such. In fact, should probably finish that right now...Whatever, I did this. So yeah, this update was supposed to happen in August, I know, I'm sorry, but HI THAT FIC IS NEARLY TWO-HUNDRED THOUSAND WORDS CUT ME SOME SLACK.
> 
> Sorry for yelling. Sorry.
> 
> Don't know about next update. Because now I have Christmas gifts to make, another Big Bang to work on that's due end of February, and like I said, I'm still not quite done with Sterek Big Bang. It's got another 3K or so to go. Sigh. But this will get updated if/when I have time. Hopefully. Maybe. Shrugs.
> 
> Dunkin' Donuts and Wal-Mart are owned by their owners. Don't sue. This twenty dollar bill is literally all the money I have.
> 
> Oh! Minor warning for a brief allusion to a character having been bullied sooooo....I know "bullying" is in the warnings, but some folks just flat out don't read those or tags or what have you. But it's written here so don't get pissy with me, okay? And just to clarify something from the last chapter: anytime Derek refers to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd as "the pack", he is acknowledging the fact that the three of them together form a pack unto themselves. He is not seeing them as his own pack. Other than that, enjoy the update!

After his body had finally calmed down and he'd stopped trembling and coming, Derek came to several conclusions.

First of all, sheet sets should be sold in bulk, four sets to a batch, family packs just like everything else seemed to be. He'd invest in about a dozen. Staring at the shreds of fabric littered about him on the mattress, he'd wind up using every damn one.

Second, he was having more sex dreams and waking up covered in more come than he had while going through puberty and popping random knots in his sleep. Always fun.

And third, he was totally gone on Stiles. He could deny it all he wanted to, but he wanted the male. He wanted him in his bed, in his mouth, in his nose. He wanted to breathe in that citrusy sweet scent with every inhale, wanted to taste pale flesh to see if it tasted as good as it smelled, wanted to feel his pounding heart against his own. It was a sexual attraction the likes of which he'd never felt, beyond what he'd had for Kate and he'd had her naked and in his mouth on several occasions, not to mention had been in her mouth, too.

But with Stiles, everything was turned up to another level he didn't think existed. It was all encompassing, a heat that felt like the sun had exploded and had scorched the earth, a need that had him crying out for the other male under his breath as his body shook with the tremors of an extended orgasm brought on by his knot and his overactive imagination. All he could think about was those stupid fucking cliches about needing someone, needing them like air, like burning, like water in the desert and warmth in the winter and all that shit. It went beyond anything Derek had experienced, what he'd thought was possible, and it was driving him and his wolf both insane.

Crawling up the mattress, he slapped his alarm off before collapsing back down on the bed. He should get up, get cleaned up, go for his run, get rid of any pent up energy and aggression so he could make it through the day at his usual low-level of homicidal. But he couldn't move, was overly lethargic with the weight of post-orgasmic bliss and a clawing emptiness tearing at his insides at how lonely the whole thing was.

Stiles' scent may have been in his nose as he'd come, but it wasn't Stiles himself. It was a stale, worn-down version of his scent, hidden beneath layers of must and dead skin and Derek's own scent. His come was painting the inside of his boxer-briefs and leaking onto his sheet, rather than painting mole-dotted skin. His scent had been rubbed into the mattress, rather than a writhing Omega mingling his own scent right back. His knot had been pressed between his torso and the bed, rather than locking him inside Stiles, keeping them tied together as he trembled and ached and vibrated.

Derek flopped onto his back, starfishing over his mattress, smearing a hand over his face as he stared up at the beam running lengthwise down the roof. What the hell was it about this kid—and he was a kid, both in human laws and within werewolf biology—that had gotten him so riled up? He was scrawny, loud, obnoxious. He talked with his hands too much, rambled more than actually said anything, flailed about and potentially took down innocent bystanders in the process. Derek didn't know jack about him, other than he liked first-person shooter games, listened to blink-182—a fact he was only made aware of due to Scott repeatedly telling him over the years about how he'd met this cool kid named Stiles in a forum for the band—and played lacrosse.

Oh, and that he'd lost his mom. But Erica had lost both parents and Derek didn't feel a millionth of an attraction towards her as he did for Stiles, and it had nothing to do with her already being spoken for. Physically, she was a lot like Kate, with big blonde hair and big boobs and a love of tight jeans and leather jackets. Both fit the blonde bombshell stereotype and clearly enjoyed flaunting it, taunting those around them with what they couldn't have and adding to younger males' spank bank material.

But all Derek could think of, was how Erica wasn't Stiles, how Kate wasn't Stiles, how Stiles was neither of them and how the Alpha wanted him more than anything for some inexplicable reason.

Okay, maybe not totally inexplicable. The thought _had_ popped in his head on several occasions, how biologically, they were perfectly suited for each other. They were designed to be attractive to one another, for an Alpha like Derek to seek out an Omega, and an Omega like Stiles to seek out an Alpha. It only made sense that Derek be driven crazy by his scent and be plagued by persistent—and unfortunately incredibly realistic—dreams about mating with the kid. It was all his instincts telling him that he wanted to get in that and claim and mate and _breed_ —despite male Omegas not being capable of even breeding, but still, their scent _screamed_ fertile and breedable and that's all his wolf cared about. It wasn't Stiles himself; it was a note in his scent speaking to a possibility of appealing to an Alpha's need to procreate and carry on the bloodline. It was the fact that his scent was his own, not covered or blended with another Alpha's who had claimed him and Derek's own Alpha nature was responding to it by wanting to take what was available.

Certainly explained why he'd gotten so pissed at that other Alpha's scent being on Stiles. Derek's wolf wanted to claim that scent and didn't like someone else encroaching on what it believed belonged to it.

Didn't explain the overwhelming feeling of _mine_ Derek got whenever he got a whiff of Stiles, but that could've been chalked up to hormones and territorialism once again. His entire world had been thrown upside down and he'd lost his pack Alpha and Anchor so yeah, he was gonna go a little crazy and possessive with what he felt was his.

But Stiles _wasn't_ his. And honestly, it was better off that way. If the kid knew what was good for him, he'd stay the fuck away from Derek and be claimed by that other Alpha, the tropical Armani scented one.

A sharp pain twinged inside his chest, a fist wrapping around his heart and squeezing so hard he could barely breathe. He curled up in a ball, eyes clenched shut tight, forcing himself to inhale then exhale, to get his lungs back on track. He knew he didn't wanna lose anyone else, that the thought of it scared the everloving shit out of him. It had hurt back enough with his dad and he had a feeling it would be worse with each additional person that was ripped away from him. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he lost Stiles, he just knew it. And pushing him away by being an asshole was the best way to make sure he never had the kid in the first place.

Yet the anger and hurt that had rolled off the Omega the previous night haunted Derek, made his heart clench even tighter and his wolf whimper and howl in agony. It seemed like pushing Stiles away was a plan that was seriously backfiring, causing himself just as much pain as it was creating for the younger man. He seriously wondered if it was worth it, if _any_ of it was worth it: trying to shove Stiles aside, being a dick to Scott, being an ass to his mom, rejecting Erica and her never-ending quest to make him Alpha of their ragtag pack of mongrels. The human part of him knew that forming attachments—or keeping them—was a terrible idea that only lead to depression and a soul-deep ache that seemed like it would never heal; the wolf part seemed like it was getting attached anyway.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

And the more he laid there thinking about it, the more he wondered if maybe the wolf didn't have a point. His dad had raised both him and Scott to always trust their animal-half, to listen to what their wolf was telling them. Animal instincts were basic, primal, didn't get caught up with emotions or logic, just got down to the nitty-gritty and the core of everything. Their wolf was to be trusted more than their head, their heart, their gut, or whatever other random body part that humans claimed to follow when making decisions. And Derek's wolf was currently telling him that it wanted to spend more time around the pack of betas that had latched on to him, that it wanted to grab hold of what was left of his own familial pack and never let go, that it wanted to go back to being social and tactile and friendly and loving.

That it wanted Stiles.

Muttering out nonsense half-words, Derek hauled himself up off the mattress, stalking his way to his drawers. He stripped himself of his undies, cleaned up the tacky half-dried come that was still coating his dick and his thighs, completely half-assing the job before pulling on clean boxer-briefs. He threw on a pair of shorts and a wifebeater, shoved some socks and sneakers on his feet, then took off out the house for his run.

He knew he couldn't actually run away from his thoughts and his problems. But damn, if he wasn't gonna fucking try.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He ran harder than he ever had before, his legs burning, his knees on fire, his muscles like scorched jelly by the time he stopped. He was wobbly in the shower, bracing himself with a hand on the wall as he struggled to stay upright and wash himself off. But the ache and fatigue in his body had proven themselves to be a damn good distraction, mind more focused on the pain and how the hell he was actually gonna _drive_ than anything he'd been thinking about while still in bed.

Dressed for the day in a pair of dark jeans, a black v-neck, and his leather jacket, he left the house before anyone else woke up, making it to Wal-Mart not long after, thankful it was one of those twenty-four hour places. The female cashier gave him a judgmental look for buying half a dozen sheet sets, but the scowl and low growl he gave her put the human in her place. He tossed the bags in the backseat, swinging through a Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for breakfast before deciding to drag himself to school.

He somehow managed to work himself into a semi-decent mood by the time he parked and climbed out his Camaro, not quite happy but not depressed or pissed off at his own damn wolf anymore. Even the sight of Erica sashaying her way over, blonde curls bouncing against her leather jacket, didn't agitate him the way it usually would and he had a hard time trying to figure out why, a frown forming on his face at it.

“Nice to see you, too, Alpha Man,” she greeted sarcastically, saccharine sweet smile on her face as she tilted her head to the side in an inquisitive manner, painted red lips stretched wide.

He rolled his eyes at her, hitching the strap of his backpack further up his shoulder, taking in the way her hands were on her cocked hips, the black strip of fabric he figured was supposed to be a skirt, the shiny pink fabric of that day's corset, her heavily shadowed eyes drifting down and going wide as they caught side of the paper cup he still held in his hand.

She gasped indignantly, stomping a foot and surprisingly not snapping the skinny heel of her boot. “You went to Dunkin' Donuts and didn't get _me_ anything? Seriously?”

Derek snorted at her objection, head rocking with the action. “Didn't realize I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without buying you food.”

She smacked his chest, lips twisting in a sneer from her displeasure at his words. “Of course you're not. Alphas are providers, are they not?”

His eyes narrowed at that, leather jacket creaking as he folded his arms over his chest, careful of the coffee cup. He'd honestly thought that she'd give up on the Alpha thing, that she'd keep to her word over not bringing it up, that his agreeing to deal with her presence during ride homes would be worth it if she'd let that whole thing go. But apparently he'd been wrong, because she was once again making a reference to it. And during their first conversation of the day.

Fuck, he hated socializing.

She frowned for a brief moment before realization dawned on her and she rolled her own chocolate eyes. “Not _that_ Alpha. The dynamic Alpha,” she clarified. “Thought it was, like, in your nature to do that whole hunt and gather thing.” She waved a hand around before sweeping it through her hair, almost dismissing the very thing that made Alphas Alphas.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and the flippant way she was describing the very essence of his dynamic, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, we are,” he grumbled before dropping his hand and giving her a hard look. “Although it's gone out of style with grocery stores and fast food joints now being a thing and Omegas becoming more independent.” He realized what he was saying, a frown forming on his face before it shifted into a sneer and he shook his head. “And it's usually providing for a pack or family or a mate, not some random chick you've been blackmailed into giving rides home from school.”

“Not blackmailed, coerced,” she corrected, pointing a painted finger at him, smiling proudly. “I don't have anything to blackmail you with. Yet.” Her grin grew into something more salacious, eyes sliding to something behind him, tip of her tongue sticking between her teeth. “Then again—” She trailed off and giggled, head cocked to the side again, scent turning amused and devious and there was no good coming from any of that.

His eyebrow quirked up again, head turning to follow her line of sight.

Which was clearly a huge fucking mistake, considering who he soon found.

Standing across the lot was Stiles, surrounded by his usual group of friends, eyes fixed on Derek and Erica. Even from that distance, Derek could see the Omega's jaw working in anger, his leg shaking in agitation, his arms folded as he swiped his fingers under his nose and turned away. Lydia said something he shook his head at before ducking it, focusing on his sneakers, arms wrapping tighter around himself and obscuring the graphic on his white tee, red and blue plaid paired with burgundy jeans.

The redhead's lips twisted in annoyance, head turning to find out what had upset her friend, eyes narrowing when they came across Derek. He glared right back, refusing to be intimidated by a short junior who thought herself queen of the damn high school, his wolf refusing to submit to someone it felt was beneath them, Alpha dynamic of hers or not. Her loose hair flew about as she huffed, rolling her entire head as she turned back to Stiles. She looped their arms together before she headed towards the school, Stiles willingly going, both ignoring their friend's calls as the group stared after them.

“Still wanna try to convince me there's nothing going on between you guys?” Erica asked, smirk evident in her voice.

Derek stared after Stiles before he was lost in the throng of students making their way inside, glancing back at the group of juniors and being hit with a glare from Scott before he turned back to Erica. “There's nothing going on between us,” he stated flatly, his wolf whining and grumbling in disagreement. Adjusting his backpack once more, he stepped past her on his way to the front entrance, hearing her exasperated sigh before she moved to his side and walked with him.

“Whatever you say, Alpha Man.”

He peeked at her out the corner of his eyes, brow furrowing. Yeah, it was what he said. He just wasn't sure how much he _believed_ it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek managed to get through his first class with zero issues, able to actually focus and learn like he was supposed to. It wasn't until the bell rang to begin second period that shit started going bad again.

Because the desk in front of him was empty and Lydia kept glancing at it with pursed lips and a bobbing foot where her legs were crossed, her worry stinking up the air around them.

Not that Derek felt like he was any better. Okay, so he was able to hide it better than her, a skill his dad had taught him—one of the last things he'd taught his son actually—after he'd turned eighteen and fully matured as a wolf, but there was no fighting the frown on his face as he stared at the unoccupied seat before him.

Part of him wanted to believe that maybe Stiles' schedule had been switched around, that he'd dropped the higher level math class and was now in a different period, but it wouldn't explain Lydia's concern and anxiety over his absence. Surely she'd know if Stiles had switched out.

He could've gone home due to a family emergency or something.

He could've gotten held up talking to a teacher.

He could've been skipping.

Not that he thought the sheriff's kid would skip.

Then again, the biggest troublemakers tended to be the kids of law enforcement agents and priests. And from the stories Scott had told him about Stiles, he seemed like the kind of guy to do stupid shit due to boredom and/or curiosity, morals and laws be damned. It was perfectly logical that he'd skip a class here or there.

A knock sounded on the door, Derek's head snapping to it as he strained his ears to figure out who was on the other side, what was going on. A rabbit fast heartbeat reached him, panting lungs, like someone had run there.

Miss Kali let out a harsh sigh before slamming her chalk down, breaking it into small pieces, dust flying up. “You better have a good reason for being late, Mr Stilinski,” she grumbled as she stalked her way to the door, opening it up and staring him down.

“Not really,” was his low response, voice raspy, quavering, and Derek frowned at the sound of it, eyes glued to the door and mentally begging Miss Kali to move so he could see the Omega and find out what the hell was going on.

She let out another sigh, this one more annoyed before stepping back and gesturing for him to enter with a sweep of the arm. “Take your seat. And I'll see you after school for detention,” she stated harshly, making her way back to the board and picking up a new piece of chalk. “Now, back to what I was saying.”

Derek tuned her out, world completely zeroed in on Stiles, watching as the Omega finally stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. The Alpha inhaled sharply at the sight of him, taking in the bruised right cheek and the split lip, the way he seemed to be favoring that side as his backpack hung off his left shoulder, hand holding onto his ribs. His eyes were trained on the floor as he walked around the edge of the classroom, Derek unable to look away, noting the grimace on his face as he moved.

His fingers curved into fists and he felt the prick of claws on his own palms, gums tingling as his fangs threatened to slide down. Someone had clearly hurt Stiles, the smells of pain and fear and humiliation flooding Derek's nose as the Omega passed him and gingerly lowered himself onto his seat. And the second Derek found out who that someone was...

No.

Stiles wasn't his to avenge, wasn't his to protect. Besides, that sort of shit wasn't allowed at school.

Then again, there was a supposed zero-tolerance policy on bullying and that had all gone to shit, given Stiles' current condition. And Derek could always find them after school, off campus...

What the fuck? He shouldn't be considering this shit, shouldn't be trying to figure out a way to kick the ass of some unknown asshole. Whatever happened didn't involve him or need him to become involved. Stiles wasn't his, wasn't his, wasn't his.

His wolf was snarling in his head so loud it was impossible to think of anything but the sudden bloodlust he was feeling, the overwhelming urge to protect and defend what was his—not his, he mentally reminded himself, not his, not his, not his. But it didn't seem to matter to the animal. It wanted to sink its teeth into whoever had hurt Stiles, wanted to tear flesh and rip someone apart, wanted to take revenge and make sure they never touched Stiles again in any way, shape, or form.

There was a reason why Alphas scent-marked their Omegas, their mates, so that whoever touched them knew who they were fucking with and who would be coming after them.

Not that Stiles had been scent-marked by Derek.

Or was Derek's.

Or any of that shit.

Leaning forward, he inhaled deeply, sorting through all the pain and hurt and anger and upset, getting to that citrusy-sweet core of Stiles' scent, that very smell that made him _him_. Derek felt himself calm, his claws retracting, his nature calmed by the presence of an Omega, the way they were designed to be.

But that hurt scent came back when Stiles grabbed his things from his bag on the floor, a low grunt of pain leaving him as he straightened back up in his seat, a grimace playing on his lips. Lydia snapped her head to him, but Stiles shook his own back at her, waving his hand in dismissal, acting like all was okay. Derek glared at the female momentarily, although he had to agree with the look of utter disbelief that passed over her face as she turned back to the board, shaking her head and sighing as she went back to her notes.

Without thinking it through, Derek lifted his hand, gingerly pressing it to the back of Stiles' neck, veins automatically turning black as he was hit with a wave of pain. The Omega flinched and he immediately pulled his hand back, not wanting to force himself on the guy—anymore than he already had, he mentally realized, flashes of pinning the younger man against walls and cars coming to mind. Whiskey eyes glanced over a plaid shoulder before Stiles snapped his attention back to the front of the classroom then nodded subtly. He shuffled in his seat, grimacing and grunting as he lowered the back of his plaid, putting his neck more on display.

Derek peeked at Miss Kali, noting how she was completely absorbed in the lesson, although her ears were probably keeping tabs on what was happening behind her. Benefits of being a fully matured wolf, being able to multi-task like that, and he figured it had to come in handy for teachers and parents alike.

Reasoning that he was fairly safe, he reached up once more, cupping his hand on the left side of Stiles' neck, veins going black once again. The Omega inhaled sharply before letting out a long, relieved breath, slumping in his seat as his pain was drained. Derek grimaced as the hurt hit him, wave after wave of it, and he ducked his head as he grit his teeth and screwed his face up. He could feel it in his bones, the throb from bruises and the sting from cuts, pulsing all over him. But he didn't care, it didn't matter. He'd take all of it and more, as long as Stiles was okay, as long as Stiles wasn't hurting.

The scent of shock came from his left, curiosity and a smug sense of being right from his other side and he ignored both, ignored the females who were clearly more engrossed in what he was doing than what they were being taught. All his attention was on the male before him, on making sure he was okay and pain-free.

Eventually the hurt lessened and the black lines on his hand and arm turned gray before disappearing and he knew he needed to pull his hand away, knew his touch was no longer necessary...

But he couldn't.

Because Stiles' skin was soft beneath his palm. Because he could feel the bump of moles beneath his fingers and he wanted to trace them, taste them. Because the Omega was warm and put his wolf at peace and strangely, just having his hand cupping the younger man's neck, it was the the closest thing to happy he'd been since his dad's death.

His thumb flicked the younger man's earlobe before sliding behind his ear, rubbing the soft skin there and making Stiles shiver. His scent turned pleasant, sweeter, stronger, a sharp spice added to it that he'd only scented when he'd had Stiles against the wall, against his car.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Slowly, reluctantly, Derek withdrew his hand, ignoring the way his cock was pulsing in his jeans at the scent of Stiles' arousal and the way his wolf was snarling at him to touch again, to touch _more_. He cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, noting out the corner of his eye how Erica was flat-out staring at him with a cocked eyebrow, scent full of “the fuck was that?” that he promptly ignored.

Stiles peeked over his right shoulder, curiosity in his own scent, before his whiskey eyes came across Erica. Almost immediately, his scent shifted to upset, embarrassment, remorse, before settling on anger. His brow pulled in a hard frown, lips a tight line, and he turned to face the front of the room, shaking his head at Lydia once again as she quirked an eyebrow at him. The redhead peeked at Derek, eyes narrowing and lips twisting before she followed her friend's lead and focused on their lesson, her foot wagging up and down in agitation.

Fuck.

Derek had fucked up. Again. He thought he was doing good, thought he was helping out, thought he was doing the right thing, but instead he made shit worse. He was sending mixed signals to Stiles and pissing him off. He was clearly also pissing Lydia off, too—not that he gave a shit about that. He was giving more fodder for Erica to use to insist he had a thing for the sheriff's kid, more reasons for her to annoy him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sinking low in his seat, he frowned at his empty notebook, tapping his pen tip against the paper before scratching random lines and circles in the corner. Shit was never gonna get easy for him, especially not when he kept complicating it all through his idiotic actions.

God. Dammit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Through some miracle, Derek was able to slip out the classroom before Erica, Lydia, or Stiles could corner him and question what the hell had happened. Because he didn't have an answer. He'd acted totally on instincts, without really thinking it through. An Omega was in pain and as an Alpha, he knew it was his job to take care of it, to take care of the Omega, and he'd drained the pain away without fully considering any consequences his actions might have.

He'd still do it again though.

Shakespearean Lit passed without incident—not that he was even mentally present throughout it. His mind was focused on a mole-covered neck and how it felt beneath his hand, the pain he'd pulled from the Omega, trying to find out who'd hurt him and how he could make that person pay.

How that last part was never gonna happen in a million years because Stiles still wasn't his and he kept thinking it, but it never seemed to fully register for him.

How his wolf was pretty fucking pissed that the human part of him kept thinking it.

How his wolf needed to get the fuck over it.

How good Stiles' felt under his hand and if the rest of his skin was just as soft.

How that thought needed to stop because he was having enough of those fantasies at night and school was not the place for that shit.

Fuck.

Art was another boring still life and he was honestly sick of fucking fruit. He didn't even fucking like apples in the first place, hated the taste of them, yet he was stuck drawing the damn things once again. Isaac took the easel next to him, but didn't say anything, just kept his focus on his own paper, which Derek was glad for. 

It was halfway through when shit got weird again. Which seemed to be a fucking theme that day really. His pencil lead broke off and he made his way to the sharpener over by the door, soon joined by a petite redhead he wasn't entirely sure wasn't Alpha agitation corporalized into five-feet, three-inches of sass and rolling green eyes.

She didn't say anything, just stood to the side, pencil in her own hand and stiletto-ed toe tapping against the floor. He cocked an eyebrow as he peered down at her, stepping back and gesturing to the sharpener, allowing her to go first. But she shook her head, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, scent both aggravated and curious. With a shrug, he stepped back to the device, sliding his pencil in and grabbing hold of the crank, turning it so it could do its job.

“Just so you know,” she began, voice low with a rasp he didn't think someone as classically beautiful as her would have. Then again, there was something strangely sexy about women with a voice like that, Kate's coming to his mind. He promptly shoved that thought aside, focusing on the female beside him as she continued. “You hurt him in any way, and I'll inflict ten times as much pain on you.”

He turned to her with a confused sneer, hand pausing, taking in the way she was more focused on her cuticles than his reaction. He didn't need to ask who she was referring to, knowing there was only one “him” that they had in common, one “him” they both knew. His features softened, becoming more of a serious expression as he kept his eyes on her, despite the fact that she wasn't looking back at him.

“I barely touched him,” he pointed out, keeping his own voice low, away from prying ears. “And in case it failed to escape your notice, I was actually taking his pain _away_ , not causing any.”

Her lips pursed as she folded her arms, eyes finally lifting to pin him with a hard look. “There's more than one kind of pain that can be inflicted upon someone. I figured you of all people would know that.” She quirked an eyebrow at him that said he knew _exactly_ what she was referring to and he better not play fucking stupid.

And given the way his wolf howled and his chest clenched tightly, he did know.

He licked his lips as he turned away from her, scowling at the sharpener, hand still paused where it was gripping the crank. “Stiles has nothing to worry about. At least not when it comes to me.”

It was the truth, completely and totally. Derek would rather claw his own face off, tear his own throat out, flay his own skin, and rip out his own organs than _ever_ hurt Stiles.

And wasn't that a fucking revelation?

And one he shouldn't be having in the middle of school in a fucking art room.

And one that completely went against his every thought that he'd had since the night he'd met Stiles when it had strangely become his mission to piss the guy off and hurt him to the point where the Omega would never want anything to do with him and he wasn't at risk of attachment on either end.

Shit, fuck, shit again. It was those fucking thoughts from that morning all over again, how he'd finally admitted—at least to himself—that he wanted Stiles. But wanting Stiles and actually having Stiles were two totally different things and while he was slowly coming to grips with the first, he wasn't about to give in to the second. Stiles was never gonna be his. Because while Derek wanted him, he didn't want to _be with_ him.

Lydia let out a thoughtful hum, dimpled smile forming on her face. “Well,” she started, haughty tone in her voice. “It's kind of late for that, isn't it?” With a saccharine smile on her face, she turned away and clicked her way back to her spot. Allison stared at her with wide eyes, mouthing her question over what the hell that was, Lydia shaking her head at it before holding her pencil up to her paper.

The pencil she hadn't sharpened.

She'd come over solely because Derek was alone and she saw it as her opportunity to threaten him.

Sneaky bitch.

A small huff of amusement left him, lips curving up at the corner as he fought off how impressed he was with her move, turning to the sharpener and using it for its intended purpose, for what he'd actually wanted to do when he'd gotten off his stool.

He thought of what had occurred to him while talking to her, wanting Stiles but not a relationship, thinking it made as much sense as anything had since he'd been forced to move to Beacon Hills. His wolf didn't seem too thrilled with that idea, but it could get the fuck over it for all Derek cared. For the human-half of him, it was a good mental compromise and he felt something settle inside him at it.

Until he thought about how he still wanted to engage in more explicit activities with Stiles and how that was never gonna happen due to the fact that he was underage and the _sheriff's son_.

He was never gonna win when it came to that fucking Omega.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He should've expected it and Derek kinda hated himself for having not seen it coming. Sitting down at his usual table in the cafeteria, his apple was swiped from his tray by a hand full of painted red nails, his green eyes trailing up a leather clad arm to find a smirking Erica standing across the table from him.

“You can at least ask,” he grumbled, watching as she sank down on the seat across from him, Boyd on her right, Isaac taking the chair to Derek's left.

She took a big bite, wiping up a drop of juice from the corner of her lips as she chewed with a smirk. “You gonna eat this?”

He glared at her, unamused, jaw working in annoyance. “No,” he stated flatly. “I hate apples.”

That had three sets of eyes focusing on him, confused scents coming at him from all angles, Erica cocking an eyebrow at him. “Then why'd you buy one?” she asked the question clearly on the minds of her two packmates, tilting her head to the side.

Derek honestly had no answer for that. He was barely even aware of grabbing the damn thing when he was in the lunch line, wasn't paying attention to the extra cost of his meal. He figured it was his wolf acting without his permission again, or that his head wasn't quite screwed on right that day, his mind all kinds of fucked up. Waking up early after another wet dream, Stiles' anger before school, draining his pain, the Omega being pissed again after that, Lydia threatening him during art, his random revelations throughout the day. Today had been rough on Derek's mental status.

And it wasn't even halfway over yet.

Shit.

He shrugged a shoulder, leather jacket creaking, excuse coming to mind and smirk turning up the corner of his lips. “I figured you'd steal it from me and then my fries would be safe from you,” he quipped, Boyd covering up his own smirk with his sandwich, Isaac ducking his head to hide a similar expression.

Erica snorted, brown eyes rolling. “Oh, like that'd stop me,” she pointed out before reaching across the table.

But Derek was faster, pulling his tray away out of her reach with a victorious grin. She rose up out of her seat, stretching her arm as far as it could go, but he simply turned away from her, holding his tray even further away. “Not fucking happening,” he remarked, chuckling as she pouted and sat down with a huff.

“Asshole,” she grumbled, biting into her stolen apple with more force than necessary.

“So I keep telling you, but you don't listen,” he stated, putting his tray back down in front of him and picking up the burger he actually remembered picking out. She stuck her tongue out at him and he returned the gesture, flashing back to playful fights with Scott when they were younger.

Only Scott never flipped him off with a sugar-sweet smile like Erica was at that moment.

Not until they were older anyway.

The gesture wasn't exactly friendly in recent times though, but whatever.

He rolled his eyes, Erica swiping a few fries from his plate while he was distracted and he smacked her hand for it, her smirk growing in response as she shoved them in her mouth.

“If I was a less secure man,” Boyd drawled, dark eyes looking back and forth between the two of them. “I'd seriously think the two of you were flirting.”

Isaac snickered and Erica rolled her eyes while Derek snorted, shaking his head.

“Fuck no,” he declared, grabbing some of his fries for himself, slapping Erica's hand as she reached across the table again, pointing at her in warning. “I'm done with blonde bombshells who steal my shit.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and blew him kisses, giggling when he made a gagging noise. “Besides,” she began, devilish smirk reappearing on her face. “He's hard up for the sheriff's kid.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Erica,” he grumbled as he buried his face in his hands, ignoring the scents of shock hitting him from the two other males at the table.

“You're not denying it,” she sing-songed, managing to swipe more of his fries and he gave up protecting them, sliding his tray halfway across the table. “Bribe me all you want, Alpha Man, but you know I'm right.”

He was gonna kill her. He could do it, too. He'd seen enough _Law and Order_. He'd seen _Snatch_. He just needed to find a pig farm to feed her remains to. There'd be nothing left and he'd never have to deal with her stealing his food or bringing up his feelings for Stiles or bugging him to be pack Alpha—not that she was guilty of that one recently, but it was only a matter of time.

“Wait, seriously?” Isaac spoke up, scooting forward in his seat as he leaned over the table conspiratorially, his scent a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Stiles? You have a thing for _Stiles_?”

“Oh my god,” Derek groaned, slumping down in his seat and turning his still-covered face skyward, begging to be whisked far, far away from these crazy assholes and their prying into his personal life.

“What's wrong with Stiles?” Erica questioned defensively, leather jacket creaking and Derek imagined her folding her arms under her chest. “He's smart, he's funny, he's cute, in a doe-eyed newborn deer kinda way.”

“Walks like a newborn deer,” Boyd quipped, Isaac laughing and Erica slapping his arm for it.

“He's a good guy and if Derek likes him, that's good enough for me. For _all of us_.” The heavy emphasis on the last three words meant she was giving the other two boys hard looks that wordlessly told them they'd be going along with everything she was saying, whether they wanted to or not.

Derek once again wondered why the hell they needed an Alpha with her around. She seemed to be doing a damn fine job of it.

“He's a spazz though,” Isaac argued petulantly, like Erica was setting him up with Stiles and he just didn't wanna go out with the guy. “He's loud and obnoxious and flails all the time. He can't talk without his hands flying about—” Derek felt air hitting him and he figured Isaac was impersonating Stiles' habit of gesturing wildly as he spoke. “—and he talks _all the time_ , never shuts up, just rambles constantly. And he's kind of an asshole in all honesty.”

Derek's hands slammed against the table before he was even aware of them moving, hard eyes focused on the beta next to him. His lip was curled up as a low growl rumbled from his chest, wolf echoing the noise in his head with its hackles raised, and he was vaguely aware of his eyes flashing red.

Which, wow, overreaction.

But no one fucking insulted Stiles like that and got away with it.

What the fuck?

Again?

What the fuck was up with him? Why the hell was he so goddamn protective over this kid all of a sudden? It was like that stupid early morning revelation had opened some stupid fucking floodgate and he was now acting like an overly protective Alpha, constantly leaping to his Omega's defense. It was mate behavior, not the behavior of someone who was barely accepting of any sort of physical attraction or feelings towards another.

Christ.

He cut the growls off as quickly as they'd begun, shooting up to his feet and snatching his backpack from the seat next to him. Without a word, he turned and stalked away from the table, hearing Erica mutter “way to go” to Isaac and the male sputter and stammer in response. He was vaguely aware of eyes on him as he stormed out the cafeteria, slamming his hand on the door to open it and leave, but he ignored all of it. He didn't care. He was fine. He was okay.

He was fucking lying to everyone including himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Isaac tried to apologize before the bell rang for Physics but Derek cut him off, refusing to hear any of it and effectively ending any and all attempts at conversation. A pop quiz was given and he bullshitted his way through it, pulling out the summer reading he was behind on to fill the rest of the time. Isaac sat curled in on himself and stunk of remorse and despair so bad throughout the entire class period that once the bell rang, Derek had told him it was okay and that he forgave the beta, even if he wasn't entirely sure how genuine the statement was. It seemed good enough for the curly-haired one though, who smiled in relief and nodded before heading to his next class with lighter footsteps.

American Lit was spent with Derek's nose buried in his text book, refusing to lift his head on the off-chance he'd catch a peek of Stiles or Scott or Allison. Ms Blake seemed to take note of his foul mood—or rather foul _er_ than usual mood—and he wasn't called upon to answer any questions, something he mentally shot her a thanks for.

It wasn't until he was changing out for Phys Ed that he was forced to socialize, surprisingly brought into conversation by Boyd who stopped by his locker as Derek was stripping his shirt. He looked up at the beta, noting the stoic expression still on his face as always, eyes roaming the broad frame leaning against the row of lockers and taking in the fact that he was already dressed in his usual burgundy mesh shorts and gray tee that he used for class. And in his hand, between his index and middle fingers, was a folded up piece of paper, one Derek was obviously meant to grab.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow as he eyed the paper skeptically, turning bodily to the other man and folding his arms over his bare chest. “If this is about Stiles—”

“I couldn't give two shits about Stiles,” Boyd interrupted, unamused expression on his face. “Unlike my better half, who someone is or isn't into is not something I actually care about. Fuck him, don't fuck him, that's your deal.”

Both his eyebrows raised at that and he was reminded of why Boyd was his favorite out the three betas who continued to hang around him uninvited. “So what _is_ it about then?” he questioned, nodding his head to the paper.

“Saturday,” he explained in that same flat tone, watching as Derek finally took the paper then folding his arms over his chest. “Erica told me you were looking for a place to shift and knowing you, you wanna do it as far away from other wolves as possible.”

Derek snorted at that, muttering out a “no shit” as he unfolded the paper and looked it over. It was directions, starting from the McHale-Delgado house to the Preserve, only they didn't match the ones he'd found online, seeming to be longer.

“I get it,” Boyd stated honestly, gesturing to himself. “I'm not a fan either, which is why I found a more secluded spot that other wolves tend to stay away from. I figured you'd wanna use it, too.”

He opened his mouth to say thanks, only to snap it shut with a click, brow furrowing. This seemed oddly like a trap, like another ploy in getting him to be their Alpha. The last thing he wanted was to wake up on Sunday, aching and sluggish from the shift and running around all night, to be told that now that he'd spent a shift with another wolf, he _had_ to be their Alpha because he was practically pack after all that.

Sensing his hesitation, Boyd pushed away from the lockers and held both hands up in innocence. “It's not a trap and it doesn't mean anything pack-wise. You're a cool dude and I'm fine being friends. Erica's the one obsessed with the Alpha thing.”

Derek slowly nodded, folding the paper back up and slipping it in a pocket of his backpack. “Why is that?” he asked, too curious to stop the question from slipping past his lips but not regretting it.

A sigh was the beta's initial response, arms folding in a more defensive manner than anything, peering around the room before focusing on the other man. “She told you about her parents, right? The accident?” he inquired, Derek nodding as he slipped his gym shirt over his head. “Well, it's partially that, the whole having someone to watch over you and take care of you, protect and provide, that sorta shit.”

“That why she's always stealing my food?” he deadpanned, lowering himself down onto a bench in order to slip his feet into his sneakers.

Boyd joined him, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “Nah. That's another thing entirely. This is more from not having a guardian-like figure in her life. Her and Isaac both.”

Derek looked over at him at that, eyebrow quirked. He'd gotten the sense that something was off with the other beta, remembering how subdued he seemed at times, how skittish, the OCD-like way he arranged and rearranged items on the table of the diner the night before. He remembered the godawful stench of regret and remorse and how he spent the entire class period shrunk into himself over a perceived slight against the Alpha. What the fuck was happening to the guy?

“What's up with Isaac?” he asked lowly, knowing it was a delicate subject, his mind running wild with a million ideas, none of which were good.

Anger was a sharp spice in Boyd's scent, his hands clenching into fists, muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. “That's for him to tell you, if he wants, but let's just say his dad isn't a good guy.”

Shit. That had been half of Derek's negative theories.

“Look, I'm not advocating on Erica's behalf or backing her up or any shit like that,” Boyd began, scent shifting to something more neutral, more serious. “Her intentions are good, even if she's going about it the wrong way, and her heart's in the right place. But that's not why I gave you directions to that place to shift. I just.” He stopped, turning away and staring at the closed locker in front of him.

Derek sat completely still, barely breathing. It was the most he'd ever heard Boyd say at one time, more than he'd heard him say put together. And clearly it was some important shit, otherwise he wouldn't be wasting the words. So the Alpha kept quiet, waited him out, sneaker-clad feet flat on the floor and his own hands clasped, bent over his knees.

“I get what it's like to wanna get away from people and wolves and feel pack-less,” he went on, still not looking at the other man, bobbing his head in concession before continuing. “Maybe not to the degree you're feeling it, but I do get it. And as much as you try to act it, I don't think you're as big a dick as you want people to think you are.” At that, he turned his head and gave Derek a pointed look.

The Alpha looked away, his turn to stare at the lockers, his one still open. He rose up to his full height, closing it over and locking it up, leaving the dial on zero and staring down at the combo lock he kept in his grip. He thought of the directions, of Boyd's understanding, of the beta's stance on staying out of things and keeping to his own business. And he realized he appreciated the guy more than he originally thought.

“Thanks,” he muttered, hearing Boyd stand up, cotton shifting as he shrugged.

“Erica's got a good feeling about you, and she's yet to steer me wrong,” he stated noncommittally. “And to be honest, I got a good feeling about you, too.” He slapped the Alpha's shoulder once in a friendly manner before walking away, leaving Derek to his thoughts.

He honestly didn't think he was a good guy, not anymore. But maybe he was changing, just like he'd changed after his dad's death. Sure, he was never gonna be completely the way he was, that was just fucking impossible. One couldn't suffer a loss as huge as that and come out the other side totally unchanged and still one-hundred percent themselves. Yet it _was_ possible for him to be _mostly_ the guy he'd been before, the guy with friends and a social life, the guy who his brother liked being around and his mom was proud of, the guy who was a pretty decent boyfriend and loved being in a relationship, loved all the shit that came with it, all the shit that went beyond just fucking.

Maybe he could be that guy again.

Maybe he _was_ becoming that guy again.

He swallowed hard as he released his hold on his lock, smearing his hand over his face. Maybe he was and maybe it was Erica forcing him out his shell with her pack bullshit. Maybe it was Stiles and fucking everything about him. Maybe it was Beacon Hills and the stupid fucking California sunshine bullshit.

Maybe he was never the giant asshole he thought he was. Maybe it was a charade, had been a charade the whole time, an image he put up as a defense mechanism so he could never get hurt or lose someone ever again.

Maybe he was clutching at straws.

Maybe he was full of shit.

Maybe...

Fuck maybes. Maybes were giving him a headache and not letting him sleep at night. Maybes were distracting him during class and putting thoughts in his head that he didn't want to be there. Maybes were...maybes were maybes, not definites, and there was no use dwelling on any of that shit.

With a sigh, he turned away from his locker, hoping like hell Finstock was gonna make them run again. Running from his problems and thoughts still wasn't a thing he could do, just like it hadn't been earlier that day. But just like earlier, he was gonna try his damnedest to do just that.


	12. Talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. This is the part where I apologize about lateness and blame it on Big Bangs (I seriously need to stop fucking writing 100K in a month, it's leading to WAY too many nervous breakdowns and anxiety attacks) and other writing projects. If you've ever seen _The Internship_ , just know that I'm Lyle Spaulding and I'm usually "working on about seven projies usta momento". BUT! Current project right now is trying to finish this fic. I've already got the next chapter and a half written so it shouldn't be too long a wait for the next update and I'm hoping to have it all wrapped up by the end of April so that come May 1st, I can turn my attention to the next round of Sterek Big Bang and breakdowns over that.
> 
> So, that being said, this thing has an actual _plot_ now (shockgaspawe!) and current loose outline has it about 26 chapters. That may change depending on how long/short chapters get as I'm writing them as I tend to get carried away during the actual writing (hence all these fucking 100K big bangs -.-). Anyway, enjoy. No real solid plan as to when the next update will come, just... _soon_. And actually "soon", not, like, months from now or anything.
> 
> Also, I've updated the chapter count thingy and the tags. If I've missed anything let me know.
> 
> Also also anyone who's totally forgotten that this fic exists or what the hell it's even about, I get it. And I'm sorry.

Erica was waiting for Derek by his Camaro after school, leaning against the passenger door like she belonged there—which she probably thought she did—smiling down at her slide phone before typing away on it. He figured it had to be Boyd on the receiving end in order for her to grin like that, scent full of warmth and joy that he only ever caught coming off his parents when they were around one another.

He dug the heel of his palm between his pecs as he reached his driver's side door, peering around the crowded parking lot. The usual set of juniors were hanging around a sleek silver Porsche and a couple compact cars, Lydia and some blond guy getting into it, the Armani smelling alpha shaking his head as he stood between a set of male twins, Scott and Allison in their own world to the side, making goo-goo eyes at one another.

And no Stiles.

Derek frowned at the sight—or lack thereof really—heartbeat kicking up a notch as worry flooded him. Shouldn't the Omega be there with them? Shouldn't they all be concerned about his absence? His Jeep was still there so it wasn't like he'd already gone home.

The memory of Stiles' pain came rushing back to Derek and his anxiety grew, worried that the younger man was being bullied once more, that some violent douchebag had cornered him and was currently kicking his ass somewhere inside the school, that he was holed up in the nurse's office being treated for injuries after having been shoved around again. Derek's fingers curled into fists and his wolf snarled in his head, hackles raised and teeth bared, ready to fight whoever thought they could lay a hand on their omega.

"He has detention, remember?" Erica pointed out from the other side of the car, drawing Derek's attention, his head snapping to her. "He was late to Calc and wouldn't tell Kali why. Chances are he's washing the chalkboard and scrubbing down the desks. She's big on making people do physical work for punishment."

He nodded dumbly, slowly, barely aware that he was even doing the action before snapping himself out of it. Where Stiles was wasn't his problem or information that was relevant to him in any sorta way. Just because he took the guy's pain, it didn't mean...

Well, it didn't mean a damn thing except he wasn't in the mood to inhale the stench of an Omega in pain for the whole class.

He was practically drowning in Da Nile and his grumbling wolf knew it, too.

Derek dragged his eyes away from the group of juniors, focusing instead on the school building. Stiles was still in there, smacking chalkboard erasers together or scrubbing graffiti off desks or some crap like that. He wondered if the guy was okay, if he'd tell his dad about the detention and what sort of reaction the sheriff would have, if he'd explain the reasons for his tardiness to the elder Stilinski in a way he didn't with his teacher.

In a way he didn't with Derek, but the Alpha had a good enough idea about why, flashes of bruises and twinges and the stench of pain flooding his mind and causing his fingers to curl into fists, claws biting at his palms.

He looked back at the group, mulling over the thought of one of them being the bully, one of them hurting his Ome— _the_ Omega. Or maybe it was just some random asshole Stiles didn't know, some Beta with too big balls for his classification, believing himself—or herself—to be better than their dynamic said, more important, or were jealous of how rare Stiles and Omegas in general were and how that meant he was more special than the plentiful Betas.

Not that the reasons even mattered. To a werewolf, hitting an Omega was the equivalent of hitting a female for humans; it just wasn't right, wasn't acceptable, wasn't fair to pick on the typically weaker subset. It was probably old-fashioned thinking, an antiquated belief over someone's gender or dynamic making them more vulnerable, but it was still an ideal that Derek followed.

An ideal he was using to justify his anger over Stiles having been physically assaulted. It wasn't because it was _Stiles_ that had been hurt that was pissing him off, but because it was an Omega.

More drowning in Da Nile, he knew, but he was ignoring it, ignoring the implications of his worry over Stiles and his anger over the younger teen's pain. For all his revelations, he was still avoiding those thoughts, those feelings, and his reasons why.

"Derek?"

He turned at the sound of his name, at the soft way it had been spoken, at the fact that it was his _actual_ name coming from Erica's lips and not some variation of "Alpha" in a not-so-subtle way of voicing a hope over their possible future relationship.

Erica stood on the other side of the car, one hand on top of the open door, the other on the roof of the Camaro, staring back at him with her unwavering brown gaze. Her brow was furrowed above heavily shadowed eyes, lips pursed, scent full of worry and curiosity and something analytical, like she was trying to figure him out. It was a look he'd seen his mom wear often when watching him, especially in the weeks after she'd snapped out of her zombie coma and was still trying to reach the son he used to be, and he felt his hackles rise in defense over it. It was like being put under a microscope, being examined from every possible angle, and he felt internally cringed under the scrutiny of her stare.

Back in New York, he reveled in the spotlight, strove for it, took it as a confirmation of his worth. The things that were said about him, he let it define him, let it tell him who he was as a person: a star athlete, a great pupil, a model big brother, a wonderful son, an awesome friend, a terrific boyfriend who was fantastic in bed. He gloried in all the praises, let it build him up into who he was, who he _believed_ he was. He relished the gossip and the talk and the things that were said about him, took them as compliments and affirmation that he was important in some way, that he mattered because all eyes were on him. People only wanted to know the details of those who were significant, the stellar athletes, pupils, sons, brothers, friends, boyfriends. The scrutinizing gazes and the plentiful attention he got further served to make him feel more illustrious, better somehow, like he was a big cog in the machine of life.

The star athlete, pupil, son, brother, friend, boyfriend.

Now? Now, he had no idea who he was. He'd given up sports, was giving the minimum amount of focus on his schoolwork, had hurt his mother's feelings by not calling her "mom", had alienated his brother, had cut himself off from his old friends, had gotten dumped for not being emotionally—or sexually—available anymore. He'd built up brick walls around himself and left a void behind them, becoming nothing but a shell of someone who vaguely resembled the Derek Hale he once was—just with more facial hair and darker clothing. But cracks were forming, chisels tapping away at the hands of Erica's persistence and Stiles' existence, and Derek felt more exposed than ever under her weighty stare. He had no idea what it was she was seeing, who she was looking at, and it scared him more than he thought possible.

Derek ducked his head under the intensity of her gaze, swallowing hard, feeling an overwhelming sense of...shit, he had no idea what. Just like he no longer knew who he was, once again lost and adrift at sea with no sense of direction, no sight of land, no lifeboat or life vest or Anchor to pull him in.

An image of whiskey eyes and Cupid's bow lips framed by pale skin and chocolate moles flashed in his mind and he swallowed hard once more, refusing to acknowledge that train of thought, letting it speed away from the station without him.

Erica's scent grew more curious, an underlying note of concern giving it a strange tang, and it struck him just how long it'd been since anyone had smelled that way around him—or at least had that scent aimed in his direction. Scott had stopped caring about Derek and what was going on with him not long after their dad died, when it was clear the older brother wasn't the same lovable asshole he'd been before, but just a plain ol' asshole. His mom had given up on him, too, a short time after she'd snapped herself out of her catatonic state, realizing Derek was not only not gonna talk about what happened or how he was feeling about it, but also flat out not talking period. Kate had never really cared about him or his emotions, the only feeling she'd been wanting out of him being that of horniness so she could get laid. His friends back in New York—if he could even really call them that—had only ever offered statements of condolence that sounded more like something they'd been taught to say by society and not actually spoken because they were truly sorry.

Yet here was this Beta female, one he'd met three days prior, and she was the first one in a long time to seem like she gave a shit what was going on with him. Granted there was every possibility that she was only concerned about it in regards to how it would affect her chances of gaining him as a pack Alpha, but there was also every possibility that she was concerned because...because she was concerned about him, for whatever unfathomable reason his brain couldn't figure out at that moment.

They were strangers, essentially, and Derek could count all the facts he knew about Erica Reyes on one hand: old cell phone, always hungry, mule-headed, in a relationship, and a pain in his ass. And she probably knew just as much about him: Alpha, from New York, the commonality of a dead parent, kind of a dick.

Had a thing for the sheriff's kid that he wouldn't admit out loud.

“Der?” Erica prompted again and he schooled his features into a scowl, scanning the parking lot again before directing the glare at her. “You may think you're doing good with this whole pretending not to care bullshit, but the only person you're really fooling is yourself.”

He ground his teeth as he turned away, eyes coming across the group of juniors, zeroing in on his brother as he grinned wide, hands entwined with Allison as she smiled shyly. Scott was convinced Derek was the world's biggest dickhead, that he'd tried to attack Stiles on that first night, that he was a lost cause when it came to spending time thinking about, caring about. He thought about his mom and how she was resigned to her eldest son's jerk behavior, yet still found herself getting hurt by being referred to by her name.

He thought about Stiles.

He was always thinking about Stiles.

But he thought about how Stiles had invited Derek to play CoD with him and Scott and how he'd offered to help in his search for bookshelves and how he'd pretty much propositioned Derek into letting him pin the Omega to various surfaces for various reasons.

Stiles wasn't fooled, despite him being the one Derek most wanted to make back off.

Seemed like Erica wasn't fooled either. At least not when it came to his real feelings regarding Stiles.

“Doesn't matter,” he muttered, turning back and ducking his head. “I don't—I don't wanna—” He trailed off, grimacing, jaw grinding again as he peered around, hoping to find what he was trying to say hidden somewhere on one of the cars still let in the lot, on some random's backpack, on a leaf of one of the trees.

Nothing.

“You _do_ wanna,” Erica argued, voice softer than he'd ever heard it being, and he faced her grave expression head on. “You just won't let yourself out of some bullshit excuse for being scared.” With that, she slipped inside the Camaro, shutting the door behind her with a finality that seemed to ignore the fact that he was about to follow her.

Except he didn't. He stayed where he was standing, still working his jaw, hands splayed on top of his car as he mulled over her words. Because there was an echo of the truth hidden deep within them and she'd gotten right down to the core of his issues, zeroed in on why he was holding people away at arm's length at best.

Because when you had something—or some _one_ —that was when you had something to lose.

He'd barely survived losing his Alpha and father. He wasn't sure he could handle losing Stiles.

He was giving the Omega up before giving someone the opportunity to take him away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

His mom's beat-up Honda was in the driveway when he pulled up alongside the front lawn, having been gone when he'd left that morning, meaning she'd been on shift early that morning and was home for the day. Derek grimaced at the sight of it, unsure of what kind of greeting he—and Erica—would received upon entering the house. His first thought was to put the Camaro back in gear, drive off somewhere else, but he had no clue where to go, unfamiliar still with the streets of Beacon Hills and what they contained. Plus there was the fact that he was still technically grounded, a punishment that hadn't really been enforced all that well given his side-trips to Wal-Mart and his dinner out with Erica and her pack the night before. At some point though, his mom was gonna put her foot down and not let him leave.

With a sigh, he killed the engine and grabbed his backpack and shopping bags from the back, ignoring the smirk from his passenger and the citrusy twist of her amused scent, grumbling at her to shut up before she'd even uttered a syllable. Erica held her hands up in the international symbol of innocence, but the entertained note in her scent grew stronger and more noticeable.

Bitch.

He rolled his eyes—and his entire head—getting out the car with his wares and leading her up to the front door, her thumbs clicking away at her cell, messenger back bouncing on her hip. The smell of his mom's coconut body wash greeted him when he stepped inside, Erica letting out a pleased hum at it as she followed him, the twosome heading straight up the stairs and to the attic.

“Jesus Christ, Alpha-Man,” she commented, nose wrinkled at the scent of his room, his come and arousal so strong even he could pick it up. She slid her phone shut and managed to somehow slip it into the pocket of her skin tight excuse of a miniskirt, eyebrow raised at him in judgment. “Honestly, just fuck the kid already and get it over with before you literally choke someone with the stench of your unrequited lust and copious fucking come.”

He leveled a hard look at her, dropping his bags on the floor by the desk, backpack on top of it, jacket on the back of the chair. “Not happening,” he reminded her, stalking over and snatching the shredded remnants of his second set of sheets off the bed and tossing them in a pile to the side.

She snorted and rolled her eyes as she made her way to the desk, her own bag falling to the floor beside his purchases. “Suit yourself,” she dismissed, lowering herself onto the seat and putting her crossed ankles on the desk itself before rooting through the plastic bags of remaining snacks left over from the day before. “Personally, I think it would help with the whole tearing the sheets apart every night thing, save you some money. Not to mention getting laid would do wonders for your shit-hole of a personality.”

He peeked over his shoulder to scowl at her once more and she just shrugged a shoulder, not bothered by it as she popped open a cylindrical tub of cheesy Pringles. He gave a half-second's thought of whether or not the angry glare would affect her if he actually _was_ her Alpha, only to decide there was no way he'd ever find out first hand and that it wasn't worth wasting time or energy thinking about it. So instead, he rolled his eyes and grabbed up one of his bags from that day, tossing a sheet set on the bed then snatched the stack of chips in her hand, shoving them in his own mouth and smirking at her protesting “hey!”

“Dick,” she grumbled, kicking at him with a stiletto-ed foot and missing when he stepped aside.

Derek opened the pack of sheets as he chewed, shaking the fitted out to get it to unfold, sending the piece of card that allowed it to hold its shape go flying somewhere else. The door to the attic opened right as he'd gotten the first corner hooked on and he turned his head to watch his mom appear up the stairs, stretching the sheet to the opposite corner of the first.

“Thought I heard voices,” she commented lightly, friendly smile on her face, hands smoothing down the thighs of her black sweat pants. She was dressed casually in a plain white tee, oversized gray cardigan over it, hair still slightly damp but mostly blow-dried after her shower. She stepped closer with a flip-flip-flip of her fuzzy slippers, turning her attention to the blonde leaning over the back of the chair, staring at her upside down. “Erica, right?”

The Beta smiled, wiping her hand on her skirt and leaving smears of cheese dust before extending it. “Yeah. Nice to formally meet you,” she replied with a smile of her own, painted red lips stretched over white teeth, looking and acting every bit the angel and not like she'd just called Derek a dick and tried to stab his crotch with a stiletto heel.

Melissa shook the offered hand, returning the sentiment. “I wanna apologize if I came across as rude last night,” she stated when they'd released their easy grip on one another, Erica's hand immediately slipping inside the Pringles can for more food. “I was just shocked that Derek had a friend at all, much less had one over.”

Derek rolled his eyes but continued on making his bed up, noting out the corner of his eye Erica waving a hand in dismissal at his mom.

“It's fine, water under the bridge,” the blonde assured her, sliding a crisp out. “Besides, from what I've seen of Derek, the surprise is understandable.”

He scratched his temple with a middle finger in a subtle way of flipping her off without being caught by his mom.

A soft smile was on Melissa's face, her clasped hands hanging in front of her, and she nodded, pressing her lips together. “Well, hopefully that understanding extends to why I would prefer you guys study downstairs in the kitchen or living room, rather than behind a closed door in a room with a bed.” She turned and gave Derek a stern expression, finger pointing around at his bed. “Speaking of, do I wanna know what's up with this?” she questioned, clearly referring to the fact that he was currently changing his sheets.

He felt the tips of his ears heat up as he finished with the final corner and he kept his head ducked, wringing the back of his neck. “Probably not,” he muttered, mind flashing with images of the dream he'd had, pale flesh marked up by his teeth, a long neck on display as a head was thrown back, the phantom sensation of knotting something warm and wet then waking up to find stained underwear and shredded bedding. Again.

His mom slowly nodded, folding her arms over her chest, lips twisting in thought. “Okay,” she said in finality. But confusion was in her scent, as well as a strange sort of resignation, as though she knew it was a strange werewolf thing that she'd never understand and therefore shouldn't bother asking about it.

Or maybe she shouldn't bother asking because it was Derek and she wasn't gonna get a real answer.

Either way she was right.

“Well, you can finish it up later. I meant what I said about studying downstairs from now on,” she continued, giving him a hard look with her eyebrows raised, clearly remembering the last time she'd allowed him to do homework with someone else in his room and had wound up walking in on them half-dressed, him laying between Kate's thighs and his teeth tugging at her panties.

It had led to a very awkward talk between himself and his dad regarding safe sex—despite the fact that he'd been sleeping with people for two years at that point—and his mom unable to look him in the eye for nearly a month. He figured her subtly handing him a box of condoms from her grocery run that day was her way of getting over it and he took the peace-offering for what it was, not bothering to tell her he had enough of his own. Or that they were the wrong size.

Poor woman had been traumatized enough. She didn't need to know her son wore magnums.

At least they were made for Alphas, extra latex at the end to make room for his knot and the surplus of come he'd be releasing.

He grimaced at her look and the memories it called up, ears burning hotter, Erica smirking in the background at the clear mortification on his face and in his scent. “It's not like that between us,” he insisted, glad the blonde was nodding in agreement, giving a thumbs up as she reached into the Pringles can for another chip, even as she chewed on one.

“I don't care,” his mom replied, voice hard. “You're in enough trouble as it is, so _please_ just do as I ask.” Her voice turned pleading at the end, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion and exasperation, scent a mix of maternal authority and begging.

He met Erica's eyes, the Beta nodding and swallowing what was in her mouth, wiping her hand on her skirt once more. “It's no problem, Ms M,” she spoke up, dropping her feet onto the floor. “We'll be down in a sec.”

Melissa looked back and forth between the two of them before slowly nodding and letting out a dubious “Uh huh”. Hands on her hips, she bobbed her eyebrows in dismissal and huffed out a short sigh. “One minute,” she said in warning, finger held up. “Or I'm coming back up here. For better or worse.” With that, she turned and headed down the stairs with a flip-flip-flip of her slippers, wooden stairs creaking beneath her.

Once she was gone and the sounds of her fuzzy slippers were now at the main stairs, Erica snorted out a laugh, smirking at Derek. “There is a story there and I am _dying_ to hear it,” she commented, tongue between her teeth in a wicked fashion.

“There _is_ ,” he agreed, scratching his jaw with a rasp of whiskers. “But you're not hearing it.”

She boo-ed him as she rose to her feet, Pringles can still in hand as she slung her messenger bag strap over her shoulder before snatching up a leftover Mountain Dew, along with the remnants of Oreos and peanut butter. “You're no fun.”

“Maybe you should coerce someone else into helping you with Calc then,” he deadpanned, making his way around the bed to grab his bag as well as a soda for himself.

She scoffed. “Correction: you're fun to fuck with and drive crazy.”

“You do a damn good job of it.”

She smiled proudly, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “It's a gift,” she declared before turning on a sharp heel and strutting to the stairs, hips sashaying as she made her way down.

“Think you can return it?” he asked dryly as he followed her, footsteps heavier in his boots, a dull thud compared to her sharp click.

A humorless laugh left her while they walked down the hall. “And deprive the world of my amazingness? Not happening, Alpha-Man.”

“Shame.”

She smacked him with the back of her hand, still keeping hold of her Pringles, making her way down the stairs with care in her towering heels. He shook his head at her, once again questioning why girls wore such ridiculous shit that they were constantly uncomfortable in and could barely walk while wearing. He'd asked Kate once but she'd called him an idiot and shoved his head aside, annoyed.

The doorbell rang as they reached the main floor and he announced that he'd get it, signaling to Erica with a nod of the head to join his mom in the kitchen. She shrugged a shoulder and did as he directed, humming to herself and wiggling her hips more than usual as she went on her way. He shook his head in disbelief again, dumping his stuff over the back of the couch, soda bottle by it, before making his way to the door. The heartbeat on the other side was rabbit fast but their breathing was normal, leading Derek to believe that whoever it was was just nervous, unlike the frantic pulse of a heart rate he'd heard behind a door earlier that day in Calc class.

His eyebrow cocked briefly in curiosity and question before he opened the door, strangely surprised yet not surprised at who was there.

The bruise on Stiles' right cheek had faded to an ugly yellow on otherwise pale skin, the cut in his lip now a scabbed over line that had clearly been picked at recently. Derek knew that had the younger man been human, the injuries would still be ugly, standing out starkly, and that he wouldn't be at that level of healing for a few days, if not a week. He wondered if the sheriff was home, if he'd been able to see Stiles' injuries and mentally catalog them, if he was gonna call the school and talk to someone in charge about his son clearly having been bullied.

Assuming the injuries even were from bullying and not from a fight.

Although really, any fight Stiles would get in at that school was an unfair one and tantamount to bullying. Omegas were the lowest rung on the werewolf strength ladder, a step above humans, but still lacking the physicality of the commonplace Beta.

Derek's wolf rumbled in his head with renewed anger at whoever had hurt Stiles and he bit back a growl, a demand to know who did it so he could teach them a lesson with his own fists. But it wasn't his place. For all intents and purposes, his human dad was his Alpha, the one to protect and defend and avenge. Scott, as his best friend, had more of a right to tear out a piece of whoever had assaulted Stiles—because there was no doubt in Derek's mind that he'd been assaulted—than Derek did as a neighbor and a classmate who had a habit of being an asshole to him with the hope of making the younger man run away from him, and stay away.

He shook his head sharply and rapidly to snap out of it, clearing his throat to buy himself some time in order to get his mind straight and focus on what was happening in the moment, not some sort of hypothetical bullshit future that was never gonna happen. Feeling like he had his shit together, he opened his mouth to speak, tone gruff. “Scott's not here.”

Stiles shrugged like it didn't bother him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and Derek was relieved to note no twinge or hiss of pain at the movement. If it still ached, it was to such a small degree that Stiles was able to hide it, but the Alpha still scented the air for any hints of hurting anyway, finding none. “Yeah, he already text me and said he was with Allison,” the Omega informed him, pointing behind himself with a thumb as though gesturing to the mentioned Alpha, hand slipping back inside his pocket. “I actually came here to talk to you.”

Both of Derek's eyebrows went up at that, head rearing back slightly in surprise. His wolf's head perked up, tail wagging, tongue lolling out its mouth in happiness, obviously delighted that the Omega had come to see them and not anyone else. But the human part of him was more wary, more reluctant, confused as to why Stiles would want to talk to him, or even what it would be about, not sure if it was even a good idea to talk to him. He was conflicted, worried, pleased, curious, and he couldn't figure out which emotion should be in charge.

So he folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet, nodding with expressionless features as he gave a flat “okay”.

The younger man swallowed hard at that, licking his lips before pressing them into a hard line. His head bobbed repeatedly as he turned it away, peering to the side, and Derek was tempted to peek out the door to see if there was someone standing to the side holding up cue cards on what he needed to say next. But his next inhale brought in the scent of nerves and worry, and the Alpha realized it wasn't that he was being coaxed into this and couldn't remember his lines, but because he was unsure of the response he'd get.

And really, Stiles had every right to be nervous. So far Derek's reactions had included pinning him against hard surfaces and scent-marking him without consent or being gruff and stand-offish until Stiles took the hint and left in a huff.

The stuff of true romance right there, he thought sardonically.

Stiles took a deep breath then turned back to him, wincing as he scratched at his forehead with a finger, but Derek doubted the expression was due to any physical pain, just the mental anguish of whatever it was he was about to say. The Alpha raised his eyebrows in a silent command to just get on with it, say it already, and the younger man dropped his hand to his thigh with a slap.

“I wanted to thank you for the pain drain earlier,” he finally stated, licking his lips and bobbing his head around. “It helped a lot. And you didn't have to do that and I know you don't even really like me, so I rea—”

“I don't not like you,” Derek blurted out before he could stop it, clamping his mouth shut with an audible click a second too late.

Stiles stood there gaping, hand frozen mid-gesture, eyes wide and a high pitch noise leaving him as he struggled to catch up, to process, to do anything beyond the blue screen that had apparently popped up in his head. “What?”

The Alpha worked his jaw as he glanced around, leg shaking momentarily in annoyance and aggravation. His wolf was whining, jumping around, demanding he repeat it, that he clarify further, that it wasn't that Derek hated him, he just was being a dick as a defense mechanism, as an armor, and...

And he was getting tired of it. Tired of holding people away, tired of the guilt that was starting to seep in through the cracks in his wall made by both Stiles and Erica, tired of pushing and shoving and fighting in some fucked up sense of protecting himself. Tired of pretending Stiles meant nothing when all he wanted to do was hold him and scent him and claim him and knot him. Tired of being an asshole, of his brother hating him and his mom being saddened by him, of ignoring the feeling and the fear that if his dad could see him at that moment, he'd be disappointed. Tired of looking in the mirror and no longer recognizing himself, and not just because of the facial hair and the bags under his eyes, but because he was such a different person than the outgoing affable Alpha he had been in New York.

The star athlete, pupil, son, brother, friend, boyfriend.

Now the former athlete, the uncaring pupil, the jackass son, the douchebag brother, no one's friend, definitely no one's boyfriend.

And while he knew there was no returning to all of his former glory, he... he wasn't entirely sure that he still wanted to be the person he'd become. He wanted to be better, wanted to change, wanted to at least make strides back to where he'd been. He still had no interest in sports, but putting forth an effort in school in order to make good grades, making his mom proud, mending things with Scott, making friends, becoming a boyfriend...

That he could handle, that he could do.

If he wanted.

And he did.

To a degree.

But it just felt easier to be who he was at that moment, to keep being the asshole most people perceived him to be, forget all the comments made by Erica and Boyd about not believing the front he was putting up. It was late August and this time next year, he'll be settling into a college somewhere, hopefully far away and on the east coast, and he'd never have to see any of these people again. Folks lost contact with family all the time, humans and werewolves alike. His dad was one of them. If his old man could do it, so he could Derek.

Yet as appealing as that idea had been only a week before, now it didn't shine quite as bright in his mind.

Still, the prospect of becoming a hermit and a recluse and leaving Beacon fucking Hills behind was enticing and he held on to that small part of him that still wanted it, using it to fuel him, fuel his actions and his words.

“I'm not repeating it,” he stated gruffly, eyes narrowed, jaw tense.

Stiles nodded, brow furrowing as he ducked his head and stared at his feet, disappointment making his shoulders slump. But he seemed to bounce back just as fast as he'd fallen, smile playing with the corner of his lips as he lifted his head back up, scent alight with happiness and pleasure. Because he'd heard Derek's words and the blank “what?” he'd initially let out had been muttered due to disbelief, not because he hadn't caught the statement. “Well, in that case,” he began, licking his lips as the smile spread full across his mouth, eyes sparkling for reasons other than the mid-afternoon sun, scent bursting and making Derek's head spin. “I'm definitely glad you did it. And you should consider this a blatant invitation and blanket consent to take my pain any time you want. Or just.” He gestured with his hand at Derek before cupping the back of his neck with it, suddenly awkward, nerves edging back into his scent. “Ya know? Touch me. Period. At all. Don't even have to pin me against something to do it.” He forced out a laugh as he dropped his hand, trying to make a joke out of it, to cover his tracks so that in the future, if his words were held against him, he could act like he'd been kidding about the whole thing.

Derek slowly nodded once as he took the ramble in, processed it himself, being inundated of images of himself taking Stiles up on his “blatant invitation”. Pinning Stiles against lockers at school as he scent-marked him, trailing his fingers along his pale neck during Calc class, running them through soft looking brown hair rather than learning about derivatives and integrals, testing his limits with Stiles rather than hearing about limits in math. He thought about touching him in other ways, the two tangled in bed, clothes gone, his hands tracing long limbs, smoothing over pale flesh, circling moles and freckles and other beauty marks. He imagined touching him between his thighs, cupping his balls, gripping his cock, sliding between his cheeks and teasing at his hole. He fantasized about touching him intimately, inside him, feeling his walls, massaging his prostate, stroking him inside and out as he coaxed a multitude of sounds out those sinful lips.

A sharp inhale brought him back to the present and he caught sight of Stiles' lips parting. His eyes were glowing a steady gold, half-lidded, and a flush was spreading across his cheeks. His scent grew stronger, citrusy-sweet and dizzying, the sharp spice of arousal swirling and mixing and blending, going straight to Derek's head then bee-lining for his cock, where it twitched in his jeans. A low rumbling growl sounded out and it took him a moment to realize it had come from him, his wolf echoing the sound in his head.

The air between them felt charged with possibility and alight with promise and all it would take is one step forward, one reach of the hand, one small move in order to spark things, to set them both aflame.

But it didn't happen.

Because a cackle sounded out from the kitchen, soon followed by Erica bellowing for Derek to “get your cute ass in here before your mom shows me more embarrassing baby photos!”

It was like someone had flipped a switch, the electric buzz of _almostmaybesoclose_ immediately cutting off and disappearing at her words. Stiles' eyes returned to their usual brown between one blink and the next, his mouth slamming shut, and his scent became flooded with disappointment that quickly morphed into anger and...

Jealousy?

His eyes narrowed and hardened, muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth, turning his head away. He folded his arms over his chest, plaid caught around his wrist and hanging strangely, leg shaking in agitation. “Right,” he huffed out, humorless laugh gusting out his nose as he shook his head at himself. Dropping his arms, he gestured to Derek, lips pressed together tightly as he stared with a brow furrowed in upset. “I won't keep you from her then.” At that, he turned and headed down the steps to the sidewalk, hitching his pants up as he turned to head back to the Stilinski house.

“Stiles, wait!”

Derek wasn't aware of commanding his mouth to say that, or telling his legs to follow, but it happened anyway, his body carrying him down those same steps before he was aware of it. The Omega did as requested, huffing again as he paused halfway across the yard, turning to the older man with a still pissed expression, arms wrapped around himself. He didn't make eye contact though, brown eyes scanning the empty street, the tree in the front yard of the Delgado house, the squirrel that hopped across the grass on its search for food. 

The Alpha took a deep breath as he drew to a stop in front of him, grimacing slightly, honestly having no clue why he'd wanted Stiles to wait, what he wanted to say. He just knew that the Omega was unhappy, upset, and it was all his fault and he needed to fix it somehow, to bring back that charged moment of _almost_ they'd just had.

Only, he wasn't sure if he wanted that moment back. It was too dangerous, too close to actually getting Stiles, to having him to lose, and he couldn't do that.

Wouldn't do that.

Ever.

He let out a sigh, shoving his fists in the pockets of his jeans, barely enough room in the tight black denim. But it was better than leaving them out in the open where they could reach out and touch Stiles, permission or not. “I—” he started then paused, still no clue what he wanted to say. He huffed in aggravation at himself, grinding his teeth, noting how Stiles was peeking at him out the corner of his eyes as he kept his head turned to the road a few yards to Derek's right. “It's not what you think,” he finally stated, letting out a deep breath. “Me and Erica? It's not like that.”

Stiles minutely turned his head to him, heart rate speeding up, hope flaring in his scent. But he still didn't look at him, not fully, still didn't acknowledge him or his words.

So Derek kept talking. For the first time in nearly two months, he kept talking.

“She's with Boyd and I'm pretty sure the two of them are Mates. And even if they weren't, I have zero interest in her in that way. The only reason I even spend time with her is because she coerced me into it with promises of never asking me to be their pack Alpha.” He tried to gesture with his hands out in a “so there” manner, but his hands were still trapped in his pockets and he wound up looking more awkward than anything.

But Stiles had turned to face him, the hope in his scent getting stronger, joined by the warm sunny scent of happiness, and Derek's wolf wagged its tail, the human part of him ignoring the relief he felt that the younger man was no longer upset.

“Sooo,” Stiles stretched the word out, ducked his head to stare at where he was absently kicking at the lawn that was probably due for a mowing in all honestly, fingers tangling in front of his chest. “You aren't interested in _Erica_ ,” he double-checked, a heavily implication behind his words. He was digging, trying to get information, trying to find out if Derek was interested in anyone at all and if there was a possibility that it was him.

And Derek so very fucking much wanted to tell him that yes, his disinterest in Erica was mostly due to his very overwhelming interest in Stiles but...

“I'm not interested in relationships period.”

The Omega's shoulders fell minutely, his scent sinking with them, sadness taking over. He nodded, lips pressed together, brow pulling together in curiosity. “Is it because you just got out of one?” he asked, lifting his head to see the confused expression on Derek's face. “Scott told me about Kate.”

'Course he did. He highly doubted there was anything Scott _hadn't_ told Stiles at that point.

He felt a small twinge of jealousy in his chest at that, remembering the days when Derek was the one Scott had bared everything to, when there were no secrets between them and that the second anything happened to either of them, their brother was the first they told. But now Derek had been replaced with Stiles, the Omega Scott's new sounding board and secret keeper and late-night confessional. Not that Derek was all that surprised. The younger Alpha had needed _someone_ to talk to so it made sense he went to his best friend. And he was sure there was more than one conversation over what a dick Derek had become, something that didn't feel like much of a surprise either, but still added to the guilt that had been slowly creeping in lately.

He shoved it aside, focusing on the conversation at hand and not whatever secrets had been shared between two best friends, shrugging as he considered what Stiles had just said, how much truth there was to it. Honestly, had his dad not died and Derek hadn't completely shut himself off, things with Kate probably wouldn't have lasted past graduation, the end of that summer at the latest, and come the start of college, he would've been ready to date again. He'd already been doubting what he had with her while they were still together and if his feelings were even genuine or just what he was supposed to say when with someone for that long. Half the time he'd said those words out of obligation, because it was what you were meant to say when parting ways or ending a phone call with one another. And he had a feeling she said it back for that same reason.

If anything, she loved his dick.

So no, he didn't think he loved Kate, not truly, and time to get over her wasn't something he needed. He'd been over her before she'd even ended things and he mourned the loss of his favorite hoodie more than anything, his ex having torched it with photos and mementos of their relationship then sending him pics.

“No,” he told Stiles honestly, knowing he wasn't interested in a relationship because of Kate or anything involving her. “If anything, it's more to do with my dad.”

It was the second honest thing he'd ever said to Stiles, the first having come only moments before when he told the Omega he didn't not like him, but it felt heavier, more important, and the grave look on the younger man's face showed that he was aware of that fact and was feeling it, too.

“I get it,” Stiles admitted, voice thick and he cleared his throat, swiping a finger under his nose. His scent turned melancholic, most likely thinking of his own deceased parent, and he glanced away momentarily, shutting his eyes tight for a long blink before he looked back at the Alpha. “Maybe one day—”

“Doubt it,” Derek cut him off, already catching the hope leaking back into his scent and deciding to end it before it grew too large.

Hope was a dangerous thing. Hope kept people going when they should've stopped or been stopped. Hope kept soldiers from dying on battlefields, kept exes believing their dumper was coming back, kept folks believing they'll see their dead loved ones again. Hope kept Omegas dreaming of a closed off Alpha finally opening up and being with them in an intimate and romantic way when the Alpha was determined to kept the entire world as far away from himself as possibly. It was gonna crush Stiles, burn him, break his heart and cause him to shatter. It was gonna prevent him from living a full life as he waited on something that was never gonna happen, cause him to miss opportunities at love and true romance, make him lose out on so many good things.

It was gonna hurt a lot more and leave him bitter and resentful and broken, much the way Derek was feeling in recent times, and he refused to do that to Stiles.

So he had to end it before it got too big, excise that growth before it became cancerous and killed the Omega.

It was for Stiles' own good.

And selfishly, admittedly, for his own good, too.

Stiles frowned at him, raising a hand to point a finger, lips parting, and Derek could practically see the argument building up behind his brown eyes, could scent it coming. So he cut that off, too.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” he said curtly, turning and heading back inside, fighting every instinct he had that told him to turn around and go back, to make sure the Omega was okay, to drag him inside, too.

Once inside, he snatched his backpack and drink from the couch then headed straight for the kitchen, pleased to find zero embarrassing baby photos anywhere, just Erica at the table with her Calc book already open, notebook right beside it, looking completely lost. His mom was across from her, picking up half a sandwich, a few potato chips scattered on her plate, clearly a late lunch for her.

“Everything okay?” she questioned, pinkies raised where she held her sandwich between her hands, teeth sinking into it with a crunch of the lettuce.

Derek nodded absently as he sank down on Erica's left, noting in the back of his mind that he was sitting in the chair Stiles tended to use and refusing to think about his feelings regarding that fact. “Fine,” he lied easily, ignoring the way Erica turned to him with a cocked eyebrow and a dubious expression on her face. Instead, he pulled his own things out his bag where he'd dropped it on the floor next to him, shutting off any and all thoughts that weren't school related.

Erica bobbed her eyebrows in an “alrighty then” fashion, turning back to her own book, scent curious but mouth surprisingly shut. He wasn't sure if it was because she sensed his 'completely done with it' attitude or was respecting the fact that his mom was _right there_ or if she'd finally gotten the hint that he didn't talk about shit, but no matter the case, his own respect for her grew a little.

Without a word, he headed to the pantry, snagging an unopened bag of knotted pretzels then dumping it on top of her Calc textbook before sitting back down. His mom watched with a curious look of her own but said nothing, finishing her own meal. Erica gave him a small smile, softening her features despite the harsh lighting and the harsher make-up she wore, and the wink she gave him spoke volumes on the fact that she wasn't gonna speak about it at all.

He briefly wondered if maybe he could actually tolerate Erica like that on a regular basis.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Derek and Erica had demolished the bag of pretzels and whatever had been left of the Oreos, leaving them with about a third a jar of peanut butter. Melissa wound up a mix of surprised yet not when she returned to get a start on dinner, having left after lunch to relax in the living room with a cup of coffee and a Nicholas Sparks novel Derek was pretty sure she'd been trying to finish for about a year.

Maria came home in a flurry of motion not long after her daughter had begun mixing the ingredients for meatloaf, arms waving and cardigan flying, rambling so fast in Spanish that Derek couldn't keep up in order to translate. Erica gave him a wide-eyed look at the sight of the five-foot-four Mexican whirlwind, lips curled into a strange smile, scent a mix of amusement and fear, like she was worried she'd be caught in the cross-hairs of flailing arms or one of Maria's jangling bracelets flying off and taking out an eye.

Derek thought it was a pretty sound fear to have, considering he was a little scared that exact thing would happen to himself.

His mom called for her attention several times, before pointing out—in Spanish, of course—that they had a guest, giving a pointed nod towards the table, eyebrows raised.

Maria finally turned to them, her own brown orbs going wide at the sight of Erica sitting there completely bewildered and silent. His abuela's hands fluttered about frantically as she stepped over, reaching out to clasp one of the blonde's hands in both of her's. “I'm so sorry, _querida_ ,” she apologized, sweet old granny smile on her face. “It is so nice to see you again. Erica, yes?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, glancing at Derek out the corner of her eyes, clearly wondering if this was okay, if his grandmother wasn't about to snatch her up for any reason or accidentally gouge her with one of her bangles.

He just shrugged.

Maria turned to him then and he regretted moving, freezing all over and remaining that way at the sight of her proud smirk and the glint in her dark eyes. “It's about time you brought a girl home, _lobito_ ,” she stated in Spanish, scent proud. “And such a beautiful one at that. Glad to see you have good taste.”

Derek had a feeling she was only saying that because she couldn't see how tiny Erica's skirt was since it was hidden under the table and didn't know she was a wolf since her claws were gone, nails a bright red to match her lips. He had a feeling his traditional abuela would have a heart attack at both of those facts and her blatant approval of his guest would go flying out the window faster than she could say “ _dios mio!_ ”

“Aww, _gracias, Senora Delgado_ ,” Erica replied in perfect Spanish, accent on point. She was practically beaming, grin so large it made her eyes squint ever so slightly. “That's really sweet of you to say.”

Maria stood there stunned, hands still gripping Erica's, and Melissa barked out a laugh in the background, amused by her mother's stunned silence. Derek felt a grin of his own tugging at the corner of his lips and he covered it with his hand before it drew any attention, happy to be on the sidelines and not in his abuela's direct focus.

“Well,” Maria began, in English this time, clearly flustered. “I meant it.” She patted the back of the younger woman's hand before finally releasing it, holding her arthritic bones together in front of her.

Erica grinned more and Derek rolled his eyes, turning away.

Melissa called for the blonde's attention, her mom stepping out the way so she wasn't impeding any conversation, smiling at their guest. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

The Beta's eyes widened momentarily in surprise before she peered around, pausing at the microwave. “Actually, I'm going to dinner with my mate. He owes me a date day.” She grinned happily, tongue between her teeth cheekily, as she started packing up her stuff.

Derek did the same, putting his own books in his backpack, rising to his feet to make the clean-up job easier. “Do you need a ride?” he offered without prompting, a blast of surprise waving through her scent once more before it leveled out.

“Nah. He's picking me up here. But thanks Alpha-Man.” She smacked his bicep companionably, winking and clicking her tongue at him. The sounds of a rumbling pick-up engine caught their attention, both wolves peering down to the front door, and Erica's smile grew even more as she stood up. “Nice to meet everyone. Thanks for having me,” she said to the other females in the room, before heading to the front door, Derek walking her. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and told him she'd see him at school the next day then headed down the steps in a succession of clicks before managing to skip across the lawn towards Boyd's truck.

The male Beta waved at him through the window and he returned it with a two finger wave of his own before heading back inside and to the kitchen. He finished cleaning up his school shit then set to work on getting rid of the trash, Melissa washing her hands in the sink as Maria stood nearby watching him, lips twisting with a need to say something.

“She seemed nice,” she commented, the words full of things she wasn't saying. Like how she'd be a nice girlfriend, how Derek needed to find a girl like her, how Derek was actually straight and not interested in men like he believed he was.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, glancing at his mom to see her shrug and shake her head, clearly no clue what was going on either. With a bob of his brows, he turned back to what he was doing, tossing the empty pretzel bag and Oreo tray in the recycling bin. “Even though she's a wolf?” he questioned, testing her, eyes trained on her as he made his way to the table.

But Maria was unphased, standing off to the side, arms folded as she shrugged. “Nobody's perfect, _lobito_.”

He snorted, sweeping crumbs into his hand. “Did you miss the part where she said she had a mate, as in, she's taken?” he asked. “Not to mention the fact that even if she _was_ single, I don't see her that way.”

Another shrug, more nonchalance as he dumped the crumbs in the sink and rinsed them away. “You'll find someone soon.”

More implications, more words unsaid.

A humorless laugh left him and he shook his head, disbelieving smile on his face. He turned around to face her, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed in her direction. Off to the side, Melissa was putting the meatloaf in the oven and turning the dial on the timer, watching the whole thing in unease, scent full of wariness, her own muscles tense like she was ready to spring into action and get in the middle should she need to.

But he paid her little attention, focused on Maria across the room, on all the words that she'd put between the lines that he'd easily read. “A _girl_ someone, right?” he asked with more snark than necessary, sardonic grin on his face. His wolf was grumbling in his head and he curled his fingers into fists between his biceps and his torso, teeth grit together to prevent his fangs from descending.

“Derek,” his mom said in warning, taking a step towards him, clearly reading the air, the tension in his shoulders, the hard lines on his face.

He turned his glare on her, almost in disbelief that she was implying that _he_ needed to back off. Bull. Shit.

“No, she is a complete and total homophobe and wolf-phobe,” he stated, gesturing to Maria with a hand before using it to gesture to his mom. “And you just let it happen. We're just supposed to be okay with the fact that she hates what your freaking kids are.”

“I don't hate gay people,” his abuela commented, the two McHales turning their heads to her. She looked completely nonplussed, shrugging and shaking her head, not seeing the big deal. “I just don't wanna see it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed harshly. “That's being homophobic.”

“Besides, I don't think you're actually gay or whatever it is you call yourself,” she went on as though he hadn't spoken, waving a hand around in front of herself. “You're just going through a phase. You're curious or confused or something. You'll figure it out one day.”

He dropped his hand from his face and turned it to the sky, pleading for strength, for patience, for some shit that would help him deal with this deluded old woman. He wasn't confused or curious. He knew _exactly_ what it was like to be with another man, just like he knew what it was like to be with a female. And he'd known about his sexuality for years, had accepted it years ago. And so had his parents, and his brother, and his so-called friends back in New York. Really, the only person who had an issue with it, was Maria.

“Derek,” his mom tried again, this time not as a warning, but as the start of something comforting. She walked towards him, hands outstretched as though to touch, pet, hug, _something_ , a maternal caress that would've been welcomed months ago but was unwanted at that moment.

“No,” he said flatly, the fight leaving him, so incredibly fucking tired of having the same fucking conversation with someone who wasn't gonna ever fucking get it. “I'm fine, it's fine,” he told her, not entirely sure how much of it was a lie, turning to Maria. “Don't worry. I'll find a nice girl to den down and make pups with, okay?” he spat out, using the harshest, crassest werewolf slang he could think of.

And judging by the way her jaw dropped and her scent shifted to something offended and disgusted, he'd done the job.

Melissa sighed to the side and he ignored any and all chemosignals she was putting out, instead stalking over to snatch his backpack off the chair and head to his room. He had a brief moment of asshole pleasure at the thought of how badly Maria would flip out if he wound up Mated to Stiles, only to shut it off and shove it aside, deciding it was never gonna happen.

In the attic, he tossed his backpack aside, letting out a long, harsh exhale. He paced back and forth, heels of his hands digging into his eyes, wolf just as restless in his head. He felt pent up, caged, his anger and annoyance a thrumming, pulsing thing beneath his skin and he was stuck without an outlet. There was nowhere to go, no one to call, no one to talk to about any of this shit.

Stuck.

Alone.

Fuck.

He breathed out a swear, shoving his hand through his hair repeatedly as he drew to a stop by the bed. Unable to help himself, he peeked between the curtains, spying through the window next door. Stiles was pacing back and forth in his own room, phone held to his ear, head ducked with a sad look on his face. He was nodding at something the other person was saying, hand roughing up and down his face, nose crinkling as he sniffed, and Derek wanted nothing more than to go over there, to let Stiles rant about whatever was upsetting him, to rant himself about what was pissing him off, before they comforted one another and cheered each other up.

Letting the curtain fall closed, Derek flopped onto his back on the bed, staring at the exposed beam running down the ceiling. He was alone, just like he wanted. He just didn't expect to hate it so fucking much.


	13. Trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan to have this whole thing written by the end of April didn't happen (shocker) due to personal drama but hey! Got this chapter and the next one plus some of fifteen done so...yeah.
> 
> Again, no clue when the next update will be coming. I've gotta get started on Sterek Big Bang soon and I've got Teen Wolf Bigbang stuff to finish up by the end of June, plus there's a whole lot more personal drama still happening (including a possible move sometime soon... *shrugging guy emoticon*). If you ever have any questions about when-ish an update may come, my tumblr (username: kitstiles) has a writing progress page that I try to keep updated as much as possible. Also feel free to check out my twitter page (username: charwright5) and watch me rant/cry/yell about my writing and sometimes even post sneak peeks of whatever fic is running my life at the moment.
> 
> And can I just say how amused I am at how everyone seems to be split into Team Derek vs Team Stiles in regards to who is the one suffering more and who the bigger dick is? Love it!

Maria didn't apologize.

And neither did Derek.

Melissa brought his dinner to his room, a thick slice of meatloaf that was still partially pink in the middle—just the way the wolves in her family liked it, despite all her comments over salmonella and E. coli—and a salad that would've been big enough for a main course for a human. He gave her a "thanks" and she gave him a small smile in return and an aborted hand move, like she was gonna run her hand through his hair like she used to before everything went to shit. Instead, she turned and headed back down the stairs with a _flip-flip-flip_ , not saying a word.

Derek didn't delude himself into thinking it was an additional punishment or that she was letting him eat alone in the attic for his own enjoyment. If anything, it was for her own peace of mind, so she could eat in a more tranquil environment and without the tension brought about by two combative forces who were too stubborn to back down.

He had to get his hard-headedness from somewhere. Apparently he'd inherited it from his abuela.

He saw Maria the next morning when he came down from breakfast but she studiously ignored him, reading the morning paper and throwing comments on the local news in her daughter's direction. Derek didn't say a damn word to either of them as he set about making his own oatmeal, pissed that she wasn't apologizing for being rude, pissed that Melissa wasn't mad at her for hating her sons' very natures.

The whole thing had him in an even fouler mood than usual and by the time he parked his Camaro in the school lot, he was fuming. Even Erica noticed his toxic energy as she met him outside the main building, flanked by Isaac and Boyd, the latter in a leather jacket that matched her own, the curly-haired one in a black tee with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. Derek cocked an eyebrow at it but said nothing, heading past them on his way inside, unsurprised when Erica matched his stride.

"What's got your tail on fire, Alpha Man?" she quipped from his left, adjusting the fallen strap of her messenger bag with one hand, the other entwining with Boyd's.

Derek shook his head, not wanting to talk to her or anyone else about it, only to remember wallowing on his bed the night before, wishing he'd had someone to talk to. He knew it wouldn't change anything, that he'd still have a bigot for an abuela, that he'd still be stuck living with her for another year or so, the he'd still have to listen to her prejudicial comments over his sexuality and/or his very nature as a werewolf. But there was still something cathartic about just _ranting_ , about getting everything off his chest that eased everything, made one feel lighter and elevated one's mood. And that was what he'd wanted the night before, only he didn't have it.

Yet there was someone walking right beside him, offering him that very thing, and he was turning it down. Granted it was being offered with the very likely possibility of an ulterior motive in trying to gain him as Pack Alpha. But when he thought about it, was that really any different than his so-called friends back in New York? His teammates only listened in the hope they could keep the social status of being member of Derek Hale's Inner Circle. Kate only listened in the hope that he'd get over it and get naked. And every single one of them all replied with the generic "that sucks, dude" or "poor baby", sounding completely disingenuous, saying it just because good manners told them to.

Really the only person who'd really listened with genuine interest and concern was Scott, but Derek had completely alienated him with his own uncaring attitude. To ask him to be a sounding board was beyond fucked up and almost cruel in a sense.

Scenting the air, he caught the chemosignals coming off the three Betas surrounding him, catching three unique flavors of concern and curiosity. Erica hadn't asked what was going on in the hope that it would earn them points or with the ulterior motive of " _Look at us, Alpha! We give a shit! Be our leader!_ ", but because she was genuinely worried and wanted to know.

The epiphany had him freezing, stopping so abruptly that Erica and Boyd went past him a few paces before realizing what happening and turning back to him, that Isaac ran into his back with a low "oomf!" before stepping around and standing to his right. The trio exchanged curious glances before focusing on him, Erica playing with the zipper on her jacket where it had been fastened right below her boobs, worried she'd said the wrong thing. Isaac began straightening out the tassels on his lightweight scarf, combing out tangles and knots. Boyd just stared in his unwavering way, eyebrows raising minutely in expectation.

Derek glanced around the parking lot, jaw working, taking in the students milling about. Some were in pairs, in groups, a few loners here and there. Some were loitering until the last possible second, refusing to set foot inside until absolutely necessary, some were already heading into the building on their way to lockers or classrooms, wherever.

His eyes landed on a familiar powder blue Jeep and he watched as Stiles literally slid out the driver's side, dressed in khakis, a dark tee, and a red plaid. He slammed the door and tugged on the handle to make sure it had caught as Scott got out the passenger side and did the same, nodding as the Omega's mouth moved and his hands waved about animatedly.

Sounding off to Scott, who was listening to every word intently, serious set to his crooked jaw.

"You guys ever wish you were born to a different family?" he muttered absently, not really expecting a response or any understanding.

So when Isaac let out an "all the time", his brows shot up and his head snapped to him, taking note of the sad lilt of his dishonest smile, the way his blue eyes seemed to droop just slightly, how false his nonchalant shrug was compared to the upset and discomfort in his scent. But his heartbeat remained steady and his pupils didn't dilate, so he was telling the truth.

Not for the first time, Derek wondered what the hell was going on in the Lahey home.

He glanced over at the other members of the Pack, noting Erica's sad expression, the way her brow was pulled down at the corners and her lips were tightly pressed together. Boyd's face reflected hers, chemosignals perfectly matched, and neither one was looking back at him, but focused on Isaac. Whatever was going on with him, they clearly knew about.

Derek felt ridiculous for feeling so sorry for himself, his bullshit more than likely nothing compared to what the curly haired one was going through—assuming his inferences regarding Boyd's comments over his dad being "not a good guy" were right, of course, which he had an overwhelming feeling they were. And then he felt a selfish kind of anger spark somewhere at the thought that he should feel bad for having familial problems when someone else had it so much worse than him. It wasn't his fault Isaac's dad was an asshole, just like it wasn't his fault Maria was a bigot. And while he knew people out there had it worse than him—and potentially even worse than Isaac—itd didn't lessen the bullshit he had to deal with or make it okay.

Suddenly he wasn't in the mood to talk, not wanting to get a bunch of crap about how he was lucky it was _only_ that and not worse, like Isaac or some other nameless, faceless, random hypothetical person. He knew it was true, he just... selfishly, he didn't care.

An he felt like a prick for it. Because being selfish and only caring about himself had alienated his brother and hurt his mom and gotten him in the shit he was currently in. This was only gonna make it worse.

So rather than continue on with his original thought, he just nodded once in Isaac's direction, showing he heard the younger man and he understood, then brushed past all three of them as he resumed his walk into the school.

Three confused scents hit him, the Pack scrambling to catch up, Erica staring up at him with a perplexed furrow to her brow.

"Wait, that was it?" she asked almost indignantly, like she couldn't believe he would throw something like that out there and just leave them hanging.

Which just proved that even after three days, they were still strangers and she didn't know shit about him.

"Yep," he replied flatly, climbing up the steps, still flanked by the Betas.

Erica and Isaac exchanged glances before she let out a louder "what the fuck?", smacking Derek in the chest with the back of her hand and huffing. Isaac seemed to retreat in on himself, shoulders hunching and head lowering, as though he was a turtle that could hide in his shell.

"Is this because of me?" he asked quietly, uncertainly, like he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to ask in the first place and what kind of negative repercussions would be headed his way because of it.

Derek shrugged nonchalantly as they reached the top, pausing to let a gaggle of gossiping females pass by. "I just don't feel like talking about it," he replied gruffly, heading on his way once more, the others still surrounding him.

"You felt like talking about it thirty seconds ago," Erica pointed out, still offended he wasn't gonna finish his thought. Sucked for her. "What the hell happened?"

"I changed my mind," he intoned, staring straight ahead. "I'm allowed to do that. Supposed free country and all."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "True, I guess. It just seemed like you were _actually_ gonna say something that wasn't a denial about this relationship or that feeling, but god forbid you actually open up and say something meaningful to people who are only trying to be your friends."

The scent of her agitation just added to his and he curled his fingers into fists, jaw working as he ground his teeth. He stopped abruptly once again, the rest of them pausing with him this time, and he aimed his narrowed eyes in Erica's direction.

"Fine," he spat out, a snarl in his words as his foul mood grew fouler. "What's going on is that my abuela thinks my sexuality is just me being curious and that I'll grow out of it, that my being a wolf makes me a monster, and my mother enables all this bullshit hatred by not telling her to cut it out."

Erica actually had the decency to look chastened, averting her eyes and tilting her head slightly to the right in supplication. Isaac was making like a turtle again, despite not being at fault for the way Derek spoke with more growls than words. Boyd's eyes were slightly narrowed at the Alpha, not approving of the way he'd spoken to his mate, but not daring to call him on it for numerous reasons Derek refused to think about. Instead, he gave each of them a cursory glance through glaring eyes then continued on his way toward the main entrance of the school.

Until Erica's sudden outburst of "I'm sorry!" stopped him in his tracks and he peered over his shoulder at her, eyebrow cocked.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, bouncing in place a little in anxiety, grimacing before taking a step forward, only to stop when he held a hand up.

"Just," he began harshly, "don't." He gave them each a final look of warning before turning back and marching to the building, feeling a black cloud forming over his head, bad mood manifesting itself into a raging storm inside his brain that had his nail beds tingling and his wolf grumbling.

He wasn't one for believing in foreshadowing in real life or thinking events were setting up later ones, but he had an overwhelming feeling his day was gonna fucking suck.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He figured his wolf's agitation was a biproduct of his own, the animal's mood feeding off the human's, creating a never-ending cycle of progressively shittier attitudes. But there was something restless about his baser-half, the way his wolf was pacing and practically scratching at the invisible cage Derek kept it behind, the occasional whimpers it let out as though something was wrong somewhere with someone.

He chalked it up to just his shit morning, the fact that he was barely on speaking terms with his family and the fact that that actually meant something to him now, how he'd brushed aside the pack of Betas and unintentionally hurt their feelings, something he was starting to actually care about. Maybe it was lingering guilt over dismissing Stiles the way he had the previous afternoon and...

The thought of the Omega had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and he roughed at it to make them go down. He tilted his head from side to side to crack his neck, rolled his shoulders, twisted this way and that, but there was still an itching under his skin he couldn't get rid of. It wasn't like the tingle leading up to a full moon or the antsy feeling he got before his heat, just a sense of...of _wrong_. It was the only way he could think to describe it. Just. Wrong.

He exhaled long and low, leg shaking underneath the desk, glancing around the room in an almost paranoid fashion. He practically felt feral, like an animal sensing danger, when there was none to be found within the relative safety of the school. Still, his ears began focusing elsewhere, tuning out Mr Yukimura's lesson on...whatever he was teaching that Derek hadn't even begun paying attention to. He stretched his auditory sense out into the hallway, listening to a group of chattering girls gossiping on their way to the bathroom, someone closing a locker, another person at a drink fountain, a smug asshole teasing "well, what do we have here?" to some unfortunate soul who was about to get shit solely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on that, as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Because his wolf was snarling, hackles up, and his entire body had gone tense all over like it was jut waiting for—

" _Derek?!_ "

Yukimura's voice seemed louder than ever, like he was screaming right in Derek's ear and the younger man jolted back to focus. A few giggles sounded out from the other students as he stared almost wide-eyed and gaping at the teacher, who was still behind the lectern at the front of the room, gazing right back with raised eyebrows above almond-shaped eyes.

"You okay back there?" the older man questioned, expectant look still on his face, the curious stares of countless students all focused on Derek.

Derek just gaped more, croaking out noises he was sure were supposed to be words but he couldn't think to actually form them. His wolf was yowling in his head, pointing out that he wasn't okay, nothing was okay, everything was very fucking wrong. Yet no real words came out.

He caught the sounds of something slamming against lockers elsewhere in the school and his wolf got louder, his heart pounded faster, and he swallowed back a lump of fear. He had to get out, had to go see what it was, had to, had to, had to...

"Can I go to the bathroom?" he asked in a rush, the only viable excuse he could think of in order to leave the room.

Yukimura stared for a long moment, before putting on a placating smile at the wild look on his student's face. "Sure," he relented in a friendly tone, picking up a lacquered wooden paddle from his desk, " _YUKIMURA room 312_ " painted in maroon and black.

Derek bolted up from his desk and up to the front, grabbing hold of what was essentially a bathroom pass, unable to leave as the teacher kept a firm grip on it.

"Next time," the elder man began lowly, face pulled in a slight grimace, second-hand embarrassment coloring his scent. "Try not to hold it so long."

He flashed an uneasy smile and gave a jerky nod of the head, pretending as though that had been the problem when in reality, everything in him had been _screaming_ that he leave the classroom and go... _somewhere_. He wasn't entirely sure where or why, but trusted in his wolf, believed that his animal-half knew something he didn't, more attuned to whatever was happening elsewhere.

Yukimura released his grip on the paddle, allowing Derek to leave the classroom, walking briskly down the hall to the right before making a left, letting his instincts guide the way.

Which led him about halfway across the school and to the opposite side, down a deserted hallway that held the locker rooms, both empty due to the gym class that was currently in session elsewhere. The corridor was just as barren, not a soul to be seen, and Derek began doubting himself, his instincts, especially with the way his wolf was losing its shit inside his head, telling him this was it, just a little further, almooooost...

A clanging sounded out, something heavy slamming against lockers, rattling them and the locks they all held, and Derek sprang into action before the noise dissipated. Yanking open the door to the boys' locker room, he was greeted with the usual scents of BO and sweat and cheap soap, though not as strongly given it was only the first period of the day. But it was the fresh chemosignals hanging about in the air that drew his attention, anxiety, fear, hatred, entitlement, and a fresh wave of pain that accompanied a groan that held such a familiar cadence, it made his heart stop.

His entrance went unnoticed, another slam and clang hitting his ears, and he crept along as silently as he could in rubber boots on a freshly waxed floor, slinking down an empty row of lockers in order to get closer to the source of the noise. Part of him felt like it wasn't any of his business, that he should turn and leave without interfering, and he glanced back at the door to calculate how easy it would be to just sprint over and go back to class. But his wolf was whimpering in his head and his skin was strangely tingling and he just knew he couldn't do that, not without at least seeing what was going on.

Okay, yeah, that he could do. He could check out the situation, then leave and find a teacher, tell them what was up, let them deal with it.

Assuming it was even anything bad.

Although judging by the rabbit-fast heartbeat pounding away in Derek's ears and the smug scent of righteousness that came from a steadier thrumming pulse, it was something bad.

He paused halfway down the bank of lockers, wondering what in the fuck he was doing. Derek from a couple days ago wouldn't have given a shit about two randoms in a locker room. Hell, he wouldn't have been focused enough outwardly to even hear them in the first place, not half a school away at least. That took some serious attuning and listening, he would've had to have been actively seeking out the noise or the people making it.

But he hadn't been. He'd been in class spacing out, minding his own business.

And yet, there he was.

Fucking hell.

He smeared a hand down his face, peering over at the door once more, walking away becoming a more tempting idea by the second. He had no business there, no right to get involved. In New York, they were taught not to step in if they'd come across an already happening confrontation, that you never know who was actually in the right, who was assaulting who. You were just as likely to help the bad guy as you were the good and unless you wanted to go to jail for sticking your snout in someone else's business, you were better off just continuing on your way.

Which was _exactly_ what Derek needed to do.

He stepped towards the door to do just that, only to stop at the sound of an arrogant voice taunting someone condescendingly.

"What? No smartass comments now? Where's that asshole wit you're so famous for, Stilinski?"

Oh. Fuck. No.

Derek was moving without his knowledge once more, a snarl leaving his pulled back lips, fangs on display. He rounded the back of lockers, stalked down another row, catching sight of the blond prick Lydia had been giving hell to the day before as his head whipped in Derek's direction. Blue eyes went wide, surprise and a hint of fear heading his way, but the Alpha ignored it, vision zeroing in on where the Beta's left arm led, where his forearm was pressed tight across a slender neck, right hand fisting a gray tee, the two teens dressed out for gym. Stiles was gaping, gasping, clearly finding it hard to pull air in. He peered at Derek out the corner of his eyes, unable to turn his head to fully look at him, the pressure on his throat holding him in place.

Derek almost felt feral with rage, wolf growling in his head, hackles raised and teeth bared, saliva hanging from its snarled lips. The human part of him felt much the same way, letting the animal's emotions and instincts drive his every move as he stormed over. The blond's eyes went wider, fear spiking in his scent, heart pounding louder the closer Derek got but the Alpha didn't care. He simply grabbed the asshole by his neck and ripped him away from the other junior, throwing him to the side so hard that he knocked down several rows of lockers in a domino effect.

With a snarl sent in the Beta's direction, Derek turned his attention to Stiles, features softening, concern overtaking everything. "You okay?" he asked worriedly, eyes frantically scanning him for any sign of damage—aside from the blossoming mark across his neck.

Stiles nodded dumbly, eyes wide and a little dazed, hand absently lifting to touch at his neck. The Alpha's own green orbs narrowed as he focused on it, hackles rising again at the knowledge that someone else had left a mark on _his_ Omega, that someone else had _hurt_ his Omega.

"Why the fuck do you care?" the Beta spat out, groaning as he lifted himself up, metal creaking as he got to his feet. "He's just a stupid pissant Omega."

His wolf growled so loud in his head that Derek couldn't even hear the same sound coming from his own throat. This bastard ass motherfucker had not only assaulted his Omega, but was now belittling and demeaning him, literally adding insult to injury. His vision sharpened as it slipped into his wolf eyes, crimson bleeding into his irises, features changing into his beta shift.

Not a single thought was in his head except the urge to maim, a bloodlust like he'd never experienced before taking over. This Beta asshole had fucked up beyond all reason, had messed with the wrong Omega, and Derek was gonna make sure he paid for it.

He grabbed hold of the blond around his neck, claws digging in and drawing blood without care, then slammed him against the opposite row of lockers in much the same way he imagined the Beta had done to Stiles. He snarled in the asshole's face, tightening his grip and constricting his airway, delighting in the way he was gasping for breath, in the way he was frantically grabbing at Derek's forearm and trying in vain to pull it away, in the way his eyes were flickering to a brighter Beta blue.

"What the fuck was that you said about Omegas?" he demanded to know, slight lisp to his words from his fangs, a snarl to them thanks to the growls he was still emanating.

The blond shook his head as best he could, mouth opening and closing rapidly, trying to speak, trying to draw in air, trying still to remove the hand around his throat.

"Der, someone's coming," Stiles warned, stepping closer, hand reaching out in an aborted move to touch the Alpha, unsure of how welcome it would be, if it was a good idea, if he'd wind up slammed against something once again or have the limb torn off.

Derek wanted to tell him he had nothing to fear from him, that he couldn't physically harm Stiles even if he wanted to, but the words wouldn't come out. All he could focus on was the fuckheaded dick he had a hold of, the stench of fear that was assaulting his nose, the fact that the scent underneath was the very same one that had been on Stiles the day before when he'd shown up to Calc covered in bruises, clearly the victim of bullying.

And Derek had a hold of his bully.

The knowledge of that had his attention snapping back to said bully, lips pulling back over his fangs in a dangerous smirk. It was the vengeance he'd wanted to get the day before, the lesson he'd wanted to teach about picking on Omegas and messing with what was his. And he was getting the chance to.

Out the corner of his eyes, he noted the panicked way Stiles glanced off to the side, hearing something out in the halls, his view obstructed by the row of lockers. And Derek had the distinct feeling he should take heed of the younger man's behavior, that a red flag had popped up in his head at it, but he could barely focus on it long enough to decipher any of it. His attention was held by the blond he had a tight grip on, the way his face was slowly bleeding into a darker shade of red with each passing second. His wolf was snarling in a dark sort of delight as the human part of him gave in to animal instincts, gave in to the anger and hate and frustration and every other fucking negative emotion he'd been bottling up since his dad's death, since his unwanted move to California, since he'd mentally rejected the Omega he was attracted to, since his abuela's bigoted remarks the night before and his mother's lack of response. He let it all take over, take control, spurring on his actions as he pulled the Beta from the locker and slammed him back into them, over and over and over.

"Derek, man, don't kill him," Stiles pleaded, finally gaining the balls needed to lay a hand on the Alpha's forearm, to draw his attention away from the bully-turned-victim. "Jackson's not worth the jail time."

Derek let out a rumbling growl in disagreement. If this asshole was dead, he wouldn't be around to give Stiles hell just for being what he was.

But...

But just because this asshole was out the way and taken care of, didn't mean all of Stiles' problems were solved. There was always gonna be someone who was prejudicial and hateful, who would shove him against lockers or walls or whatever hard surface, just because they felt superior and needed to display it.

Which. From an outsider's point-of-view, Derek was kind of doing the same thing. Shit.

No. No, he wasn't. He was protecting someone else, defending them, sticking up for them, fighting a battle they couldn't fight themselves. There were laws protecting Derek, condoning what he was doing, letting him get away with it. Hell, some folks might even praise him for it, congratulate him on a job well done.

That thought in mind, he threw the Beta to the side, watching him fall on the floor, pushing himself up on his hands as he coughed and wheezed. Derek didn't give him a chance to recover, grabbing hold of his shoulder and flipping him onto his back before straddling his torso and punching him in the face over. And over. And over.

"Jesus fuck, Derek, _stop_ ," Stiles pleaded behind him, grabbing hold of his fist with both hands when he pulled back to wail on the blond again, utilizing every ounce of strength to prevent him from landing another blow.

Derek let out a growl, his wolf torn between being pissed that their attack was being foiled and they couldn't avenge their Omega the way it wanted and wanting to do what Stiles asked, holding back, stopping the punches. Peering over his shoulder, he took in the younger man's pleading brown eyes, the worry in his scent, the bruising around his neck already fading.

"Please," Stiles requested lowly, swallowing. "He's not worth it either."

The Alpha felt his angry scowl softening but his beta shift remaining, the curl of his lip disappearing. He slowly lowered his hand, Stiles letting him go, the tension and aggravation leaving his body and causing him to slump.

A wet cough came from below him, soon followed by the door slamming open and angry footsteps matching over. Derek turned forward just in time to see Finstock round the corner, blue eyes wider and wilder than usual, fury a hard line between his eyebrows.

"What in god's name is going on here, McHale?" he demanded to know, spit flying and arms flapping about.

Derek stared down at the prone form beneath him, taking in the bloody nose, the cut lip, the black eye, the groans he let out and the stench of pain he gave off. His face was already swelling, blackening, bruising, and the Alpha felt that same dark delight from earlier come back, a twisted pride puffing up his chest at a job well done in paying the bastard back for what he'd done to Stiles.

He didn't speak, simply smirked in self-satisfaction, not fighting it when he was grabbed by the arm by Finstock and hauled to his feet. He knew he was in the shit, knew he was fucking in for it, but he caught a whiff of pride and gratitude in Stiles' scent and knew it was worth it, no matter the outcome.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek's principal back at Queens Alpha-Beta Lycanthropic High had been a man named Brad Royal who always took the time to say hi to him in the hall, ask how he was, and give a little bit of preferential treatment to. He never could tell if the behavior was due to his position as a star athlete who led two different teams in two different sports to state championships, or because he shared a last name with an entire wing of the school—which neither of his parents would confirm or deny any relation to the family who was such a huge donor to the school. But the man was affable, friendly, listened to his students, and not once had Derek found himself in the principal's office under negative circumstances.

Beacon Hills Lycanthropic on the other hand...

Where Royal had been more friendly and buddy-buddy, Deucalion was intimidation personified. His eyes were covered by aviator sunglasses, wrinkles visible on either side and around his mouth, lips pressed into a hard smile that was more worrying than welcoming. His tie was the color of blood, knot loose around his neck, top button of his white dress shirt undone. Sleeves were rolled up to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms, powerful hands clasped on top of the desk, jacket hung over the back of his chair. An air of authority surrounded him, thick in his scent and in his presence, and even Derek felt the urge to bare his neck to the man.

"So," Deucalion began, his English accent that of movie villains and charming bad guys you hated to root for but did. "Who wants to tell me what happened?"

Derek said nothing from his seat on the far right, simply stared straight ahead at Principal of the Year plaques and accolades earned by a job well done. His features had long since shifted back to human, green eyes narrowed and jaw tensed up as he slouched in his seat, arms folded and legs splayed.

Stiles was on his immediate left, slumped in his own seat, but more out of being timid than the aura of "no fucks given" Derek was exuding. His thumbnail was being gnawed to the quick, right leg shaking up and down, anxiety a pungent aroma swirling around him. Then again, his dad was standing directly behind him in full sheriff regalia, arms folded and his own blue eyes narrowed in authority and aggravation, although it was hard to tell who the emotion was aimed at, given the way John's eyes were switching back and forth between the three high schoolers.

Jackson—which was apparently the name of the asshole Beta bully—was sitting on the other side of Stiles, slumped with an arm crossed over his chest, ice pack held to his left cheek as he glared petulantly, tissues shoved up his nostrils to stem the bleeding. He'd been looked over by a nurse while they'd all waited for their parents to show, the brutish Ms Cross snapping his nose back into alignment right then and there outside Deucalion's office, and Stiles'd had to hide his smirk at the Beta's pained wails. Derek hadn't bothered hiding his own delighted grin, but the expression had been quickly wiped away when he'd caught sight of Melissa's angry march down the hallway, scowl on her face the likes of which he'd never seen, even during all his recent antagonizing and anti-social bullshit.

Hadn't been a good fucking sign.

Now all three teens were in the principal's office, a parent standing behind each of them. Jackson's dad—David Whittemore _Esquire_ , he'd introduced himself haughtily—had his hands on the back of his son's seat, hate-filled eyes continuously sliding over to Derek. Probably came to the conclusion the younger man was responsible for the injuries on his kid's face and neck, which was a safe assumption given Derek's bloody nails and scraped knuckles.

Oh well.

Deucalion focused on each student in turn, something that made both Stiles and Jackson fidget when that tinted lens-covered gaze switched to them. Derek was honestly just impressed, having heard rumors that the man was blind. Made him wonder how the Alpha was able to locate them so well, mind racing with theories about Daredevil-like powers, that he saw in fiery shapes, or that he simply guessed on locations by the sounds of heartbeats.

Either way...

"No answer then?" he concluded when no one broke, when no one spoke up. "Well, I think it's perfectly clear what happened here. Mr Stilinski—" At that, he zeroed in on Stiles, the Omega stiffening with a sharp inhale, bracing himself for what was coming next, heart pounding in anticipation. Derek kept a watch on him out the corner of his eye, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand, cup the back of his neck, scratch his scalp, do _something_ to show support and comfort.

"It's my understanding you weren't directly involved in this altercation. Finstock stated you were standing to the side and from what Nurse Cross told me, you have no wounds one would usually obtain during a fight. Is all this true?"

Stiles licked his lips then swallowed as he nodded, eyes widening momentarily as he remembered the Alpha's lack of sight. "Yeah," he croaked out, shuffling in his seat once more, tugging at his maroon gym shorts as a cover up.

"Do you wish to inform me as to what exactly happened?" Deucalion questioned, eyebrow raised over his aviators and Derek found himself mentally pleading with Stiles to tell the principal what happened, to take the opportunity for what it was and get out of any possible punishment. He was the victim in all this and...

And he wasn't gonna admit it.

Because Stiles refused to be a weak Omega, or be perceived as one. Admitting that he was getting bullied by Jackson in the locker room was admitting to being weak and admitting that he needed someone to fight his battles for him. There was no fucking way Stiles was saying a damn thing.

Derek both respected and hated the guy for it.

Stiles shrugged and shook his head. "Not really," he answered, voice still rough, making Derek's wolf whimper out of worry that it was due to the choke-hold he'd been in when the Alpha had found him.

The sheriff let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He clearly wasn't all that thrilled with his son's decision to keep shit to himself either, wanted the teen to come clean, to admit it all so he could get off scott-free. But instead, Stiles was being a little shit and fearlessly taking any possible consequences of his decision to not say anything. Dumbass.

Deucalion bobbed his head to the side in a dismissive manner, lips pursed, hands gesturing in a wordless way of saying there was nothing he could do about that except accept it. "Well, as I said, you didn't seem to be involved, so you're free to go with just a warning to stay out of trouble."

The elder Stilinski snorted. Apparently he didn't think that was gonna happen.

From the stories Derek had heard, he didn't think it was gonna happen either.

"Now. Mr Whittemore," Deucalion began, turning his attention to the mentioned male.

Jackson paused where he'd been adjusting the paper towel around his borrowed ice pack, putting the cold compress back on his face and looking sheepishly at the principal. He'd been playing the victim since Finstock had pulled Derek off him, sputtering through blood and crocodile tears about how the Alpha had just attacked him for no reason. The coach had given him a dubious stare, clearly not a moron and well-aware of what had really happened. Stiles had snorted loudly and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further. Derek had glared and bared his still descended fangs in warning, shutting the bastard up.

But it didn't stop him from whining to Nurse Cross about the pain—which earned him a look that showed she truly couldn't care less—or looking pitifully at Principal Deucalion—despite the man being _blind_ and unable to even see it, much less believe it—and Derek wanted to throttle him all over again.

Deucalion puffed up his chest and straightened his spine in a typical Alpha posturing move, displaying his authority and strength, before he continued on. "Three days suspension and I want you to leave school grounds as soon as we're done here."

Jackson's eyes went wide—as much as they could with the bruising forming from his broken nose—while his dad barked out an incredulous "what?!", his own back stiffening as his hackles raised.

"My kid is innocent in this," Whittemore _Esquire_ argued in his charcoal suit, probably only just managing to not let out an "objection!" at the principal's ruling. "He was attacked by that little prick over there." He pointed at Derek, who cocked an eyebrow and looked down at himself, thinking there wasn't much about him that would be considered little.

Except maybe how much of a fuck he gave over Jackson's dad believing him to be beyond reproach.

Deucalion's brow furrowed over his sunglasses, wry sort of grin forming on his face. "I find it hard to believe that your son is _completely_ innocent in all this."

Smart man.

"But I'm sure if he were, Mr Whittemore would let us know." He lowered his head to the younger Whittemore, pinning him with a hard stare that could be felt even through the aviators. "Tell us, Jackson. Were you innocent in all this? Were you attacked for no real reason?"

Jackson's blue eyes shifted away and he shuffled in his seat, but he said nothing.

Probably the best decision he'd made in a long time.

A smug sort of smirk formed on the principal's face at having been proven right, petty pride coloring his scent, barely noticeable to Derek's nose past the pungent aroma of his mom's anger and disappointment as it drifted over from behind him.

"That's what I thought," the principal stated, turning his attention to the third and final student he'd yet to address, smirk disappearing into thinned out lips, brow pulled into a hard line, and Derek only just managed to hold his ground and not bare his neck under the weight of that sightless stare. "As for you, Mr McHale, your transgressions are a bit more severe. Not only did you seriously injure Mr Whittemore, but you also went into beta shift at school, something that is strictly forbidden here at Beacon Hills Lycanthropic."

Shit.

He'd completely forgotten about that stupid rule—had completely forgotten _everything_ while he'd been choking Jackson. The only thing he'd been thinking about was the basic need and instinct to protect and defend an Omega that was being harmed. He'd let his wolf drive his actions and take control of him, of his body as he gave over to his more animalistic side, not holding back or even considering reining it in.

And now he was about to pay for it.

Well, pay for it even more than he already was.

"Which is why," Deucalion continued, "you are suspended through next Friday, including the rest of today."

His eyes went wide at that, lips parting in shock. Six days. Nearly seven really, considering it was barely second period. Holy shit.

His mom let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head in disappointment. Stiles snapped his own head to Derek, his own eyes wide, leg stilling from its bouncing. Whittemore Sr smiled haughtily, nose in the air and arms folded, staring down at Derek in victory and condescension. Jackson wore a smirk of his own and John rubbed at his eyes like he honestly couldn't believe any of this shit.

"I would be amenable to a less severe suspension," the principal stated, hands gesturing in suggestion and nonchalance. "If you were to explain to me exactly what happened and why it was that you assaulted Mr Whittemore to begin with."

Out the corner of his eye, he watched Stiles go rigid all over, inhaling hardly and holding it in his lungs as he braced himself once more. He was waiting for Derek to tell, fully expecting the Alpha to say he'd come to the defense of an Omega, that he'd pulled a White Knight and rescued the pathetic weakling in distress.

Not that Derek thought Stiles was weak. No, the kid was tough as nails, had to be in order to survive all that he'd been through: losing a parent—and his wolf parent at that—constant bullying and belittling due to being an Omega, growing up with a single dad who was human and therefore leaving him to have to figure out anything and everything werewolf-related all by himself. And Stiles still smiled, still laughed, still joked, still kept a positive outlook and a happy attitude, even when faced with assholes like Jackson fucking Whittemore.

Like Derek fucking Hale.

And with the thought of that strength and bravery in mind, Derek knew he couldn't sell Stiles out or make him seem like the pathetic, weak Omega stereotype. So he simply gave a flat "no", mentally cringing at the disappointed sigh his mom gave out, wolf torn between a whimper at that or wagging its tail at the relieved exhale Stiles blew out. The human part of him was just as conflicted, feeling guilty at upsetting his mom yet happy he'd pleased Stiles, which just made him feel even guiltier. Fuck, things were getting way too complicated for him.

Scratch that. Things had already been way too complicated. Now it was beyond what he'd even thought was possible.

Shit shit shit.

A dismissive bob of the eyebrows was Deucalion's response before he let out a sigh of his own. "So be it," he concluded, pressing a button on his phone to speak to his secretary and request her presence. "Mr Stilinski, you are free to return to class. Sheriff, thank you for your time."

John nodded once slowly, giving Jackson a hard look then Derek an indecipherable one before patting his son's shoulder and telling him to come on. Stiles glanced at Derek briefly, face just as unreadable as his dad's had been, before he snatched his backpack off the ground and followed the elder man out.

Derek fought the urge to watch him leave, trying his best to ignore his wolf's whimpers at the Omega's absence, to ignore what those whimpers could mean. Instead he focused on the forms Deucalion had the secretary fill out, signing his own name where he was told to, his mom handed a copy before they were allowed to leave.

She was silent as they walked side-by-side down the hall, out the door, across the sidewalk. Derek peered down at her out the corner of his eye, taking in her tense jaw, her crossed arms, her black purse slung over her shoulder, her blue scrubs. It struck him right then and there how she'd worn green ones the night his dad had died, and that she hadn't worn that color since.

They made their way down the stairs and she drew to a stop before the concrete curb turned into tarred parking lot, turning to face him, fire in her dark eyes. He swallowed hard at the sight of it, wolf hiding behind its paws, knowing all that anger and disappointment in her expression and her scent was all aimed at him.

"A week," she grit out, shaking her head. "You couldn't even last an entire week at school before you got suspended." She huffed out in disbelief, hand to her forehead as she kept shaking her head. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He looked away, lips pressing together as his eyes scanned the deserted parking lot, all students in class, nothing but cars of various makes and models. He knew what he should say here, that he was just defending Stiles, and he knew that his mom would understand, maybe even be proud of him.

But...

But she hadn't understood anything about his wolfy nature so far.

But she thought he hated Stiles and had tried to attack him that first night.

But she hadn't stood up for him any time her own mother had made scathing comments about him for his sexuality or his werewolfness.

But he couldn't betray Stiles like that, deprive him of his pride and dignity.

His mind flashed back to when he was on top of Jackson, pounding away at him repeatedly, punching him over and over and over. He thought of _Fight Club_ , of the way the Narrator had taken his anger and frustration out on Angel Face, of his own ability to relate to that moment and how he'd let his own aggravation at his shit day—his shit _life_ control his actions.

"I felt like destroying something beautiful," he quoted monotonously, turning back to find her looking even more crestfallen than before.

God. Fucking. Dammit.

Melissa rubbed at her temples, head shaking again, before she crossed her arms over her chest once more. “You aren't as clever as you think you are,” she stated harshly, dark eyes narrowed as she glared up at him. “I've seen _Fight Club_ and I highly doubt you were in there trying to form a chapter of your own with that Whittemore boy.”

He just shrugged a shoulder, letting her think whatever. Which most definitely wasn't doing him any favors. The guilt in his stomach already felt like a ball of lead the size of an orange and he felt it swell up, expanding to the size of a grapefruit. Because his mom, his Packmate, was disappointed and pissed and just so very fucking done with him, while he'd been trying to change, trying to fix shit, trying to dig his way out of the giant fucking grave he'd buried himself in over the past few months.

She let out another sigh, this one more resigned than anything, shoulders slumping as the fight and the anger left. “I gotta get back to work,” she stated lowly before pointing a finger at him in warning. “And I would say that you and I aren't done with this conversation, but I have the distinct feeling that you'd have nothing to add, other than more shrugging and Palahniuk quotes. I just.” She threw her arms in the air in exasperation, letting them hit her thighs without care. “I honestly have no idea what the hell to do with you anymore, other than just. _Give up._ ”

His eyes shut tight as he fought off a wince at that, his wolf howling in his head. The back of his eyes stung, rarely used tear ducts kicking into production, his skin tingling with upset and disheartening and an overwhelming sense of having fucked up.

“I'll see you at home,” she concluded, turning and heading to her car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.

Alone.

Not that he didn't deserve it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The house was empty. And it stayed empty.

Derek did chores, did the laundry, cleaned out the fridge. He finished his late summer reading assignment for American Lit, got a head-start on his Shakespearean Lit project, read the next chapter in his Calc textbook in case Erica stopped by and demanded help.

Then was promptly bored.

And it was only three.

Shit.

Almost made him wish he'd fucked up his sheets again. At least then he'd have something to do.

He glanced over at the TV, almost tempted to actually _watch_ something, the doorbell ringing and saving him from that bullshit.

Had to be bad if he was actually glad someone was at the door and he had to be social.

Stepping over, he paused with his hand on the knob, ears catching the sound of a now-familiar rabbiting heartbeat. Shit. His gratitude at the distraction suddenly disappeared and he found himself mentally swearing, debating if he was actually gonna open the door and subject himself to Stiles. Probably a really fucking bad idea, the logical part of him pointed out, considering the last time they'd seen each other, they'd both been in the principal's office after Derek had gotten in a fight defending him. But his wolf was whining and howling and demanding he open the door, that he make sure Stiles was okay, that he at least find out what the guy wanted.

No harm in that, right?

Famous last words.

With a sigh, he opened the door, barely sparing a glance at the Omega as he let out a gruff “Scott's not here” and began closing the door over once more.

Only for Stiles to slap a hand on the wood and push with all his might, trying to stop him.

“Good. 'Cause I'm here to talk to you, you dick.”

Aw, hell.

He breathed out a swear before releasing the knob and stepping away, heading further into the living room with a silent invitation for the younger man to enter. “Whaddya want, Stiles?” he groaned, roughing his hands over his face as he made his way to the middle of the room.

“I wanna know what the fuck that was,” Stiles demanded, closing the door and stomping his way over.

Derek turned to find the leaner man a few feet away, whiskey eyes a darker chocolate brown as he glared, leg shaking in anger, fists on his hips, jaw ticking. The Alpha cocked an eyebrow at the expression, at the body language, folding his arms in a somewhat casual manner and shrugging. “That was me telling you Scott's not home.”

He resisted the urge to add a “duh” at the end.

Barely.

Stiles rolled not just his eyes but his whole head, clearly not amused with the answer. “No, dickwad. I meant at school,” he clarified with a sharp bite to his words. “Why the hell didn't you say anything to Deucalion? You could've gotten away with beating Jackson's ass and maybe only gotten a couple days for the wolfing out.” He shrugged and shook his head dubiously. “Why didn't you?”

The thought had occurred to Derek. Several times, in fact. And he always came to the same conclusion. “Figured you didn't want me to, otherwise you would've said it yourself.”

He seesawed his head in concession, swiping a finger under his nose. “Still don't understand why you butted in in the first place,” he pointed out, lowly, shrugging again. “Anyone else would've just left, walked away, pretended nothing happen. Wouldn't be the first time someone had witnessed an Omega getting picked on and didn't do shit about it. Yet you stepped in.” His brow furrowed, tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the man across from him. “Why?”

Derek turned away, unable to handle the weight of that stare, what it could mean, the urges it was stirring inside of him. Because he wanted to tell, to confess, to explain that seeing Stiles getting hurt like that had felt like a stab to the chest, that it had set off territorial and protective instincts he hadn't even been aware that he'd even had in the first place. He hadn't really thought about what he was doing at the time, just reacted, just knew that he needed to save and defend the other man. It wasn't until later, while he was home alone and had nothing but time to think that he realized maybe it had something to do with the feelings he'd recently figured out he had towards Stiles.

But he wasn't gonna admit that, not out loud, and sure as shit not to Stiles.

Looking back at the Omega, he took in his red plaid and the dark blue tee he had underneath, the bulls-eye graphic in the middle looking so much like a certain comic book hero's famous shield. With a shrug, he feigned nonchalance, features as flat as his voice as he spoke. “I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from.”

Stiles' scent blossomed at that, grew stronger, that added spicy note to it that had Derek's wolf rumbling in pleasure and his cock twitching in interest. But it was soon overpowered by aggravation and frustration, the Omega glaring even harder, jaw working as he ground his teeth, throwing his arms in the air overdramatically.

“Fuck you,” he spat out, pointing a finger at the Alpha in anger. “You don't get to do that shit, okay? You don't get to fucking act like you hate me and basically tell me to fuck off then fucking defend me from some Beta asshole and use a _Captain fucking America_ quote in order to justify it. That's not fucking fair.” He licked his lips as he crossed his arms, leg shaking, eyes glaring. “You keep acting like the world's biggest Alpha douchebag, only to turn around and do all this nice shit to completely contradict that and remind me why I still fucking like your broody ass.” He gestured to Derek with his palm up, flicking his hand before refolding his arms, still glaring, huffing through his nose in annoyance.

Derek stood there stunned silent for the longest time, trying to take in and digest everything that Stiles had just said. Only he couldn't. Not all of it anyway. He kinda stalled out at the fact that the Omega had pretty much just admitted to having feelings for him.

Feelings other than the aggravation and irritation and frustration that was coloring his scent.

Shit.

His heart skipped a beat in his chest then picked back up double-time, making him feel every bit the fucking cliché. And with his wolf victoriously yapping in his head, tail wagging wildly, he found it hard to really, truly focus on anything but the fact that Stiles liked him. _Liked_ him. Maybe even liked him as more than just a neighbor, an acquaintance, a classmate, his best friend's older brother.

 _Like_ liked him.

Oh. Oh no. Oh shit.

That wasn't part of the plan, wasn't what Derek wanted. It was bad enough he'd developed his own feelings; he didn't need them to be reciprocated. Besides, Stiles was still young—granted only about a year younger, but young nonetheless—so chances were it wasn't actually feelings involved, but hormones. Derek wasn't a moron, knew he was physically attractive, even somewhat made an effort to _look_ physically attractive, so there was every chance that that was all Stiles saw in him. A hot older Alpha with muscles and the strength to defend him and a knot to fill him up.

The realization had him crashing back to Earth and his wolf whimpering as it hid behind its paws. Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, then cleared his throat, meeting Stiles' glare with a serious expression of his own. “You don't like me, not in that way.” He held up a hand when the other man opened his mouth to argue, effectively shutting him up. “It's all biology and hormones, just your Omega nature letting you know there's an available Alpha. That's all.” He shrugged and folded his arms, dismissing the whole thing.

Stiles' scent grew angrier, glare harder, jaw working even more than it had the entire conversation. “Bullshit,” he ground out, taking a step forward, stabbing a finger at the floor. “I don't have this sort of reaction to any other Alpha I've ever been around, okay? Not even when Lydia's chewed Jackson out or when I met Scott or when Danny and I dated for a li'l while sophomore year.”

Christ, 'cause Derek didn't hate the motherfucker enough...

“So you can't fucking tell me it's biology or Omega instincts or what-the-fuck-ever, all right? 'Cause it's not true.”

Derek looked away, roughing his hand over his mouth and jaw, whiskers rasping on his palm. Trust Stiles to be as stubborn with this as he was with every-fucking-thing else in his life. The kid just refused to take no for an answer, refused to back down, refused to see anyone else's way.

But maybe...

Maybe he had a point.

Maybe he was right about all of it.

Maybe it was more than just biology and their dynamics making them compatible.

Maybe...

“Doesn't matter,” Derek murmured, shoving both hands in his back pockets and shrugging again. “I already told you I have zero interest in a relationship of any form.”

The anger drained from Stiles' face, from his scent, replaced with a sad sort of resignation. His eyes grew wet as he glanced around the room, nodding like a bobble-head, lips pressed together in a hard line. “Right. I remember,” he replied, voice gravelly in a way it hadn't been previously. He cleared it, wringing the back of his neck as he ducked his head, staring down at where he was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the carpet. “Then maybe, ya know?” he began, lifting his head up and staring at Derek with an expression so earnest it caused the Alpha's breath to freeze in his lungs. “Stop giving me fucking hope.” At that, he turned and left the room, the house, left Derek.

He didn't slam the door, but he might as well have with the way Derek flinched at the latch clicking into place.


	14. Lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating on the reg! Quick note to say that the chapter count is being bumped up by one (as of now) so it'll now be 27 chapters. I wanted to add in a couple scenes at the beginning of chapter fifteen and it wound up being an entire chapter unto itself so *shrugs*
> 
> Again, feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://kitstiles.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/charwright5) for fandom yells and writing complaints, as well as the occasional update about updates and sneak peeks. Oh and if you catch the _Archer_ quote in this, then just know that I love you.

He really should've expected it, should've known it was gonna happen. Maybe he was naive, maybe he was idiotic, maybe he was still stunned and dumbfounded from the way Stiles had left things, from their conversation entirely. No matter the case, he was still taken by surprise and felt like a fool for it.

Erica knocked on the door at five pm. With Isaac and Boyd in tow, of fucking course.

Derek let out a huge sigh at the three of them standing on the porch, turning his head to the sky to find strength from somewhere or something and coming up empty. No real surprise there. Erica was beaming at him, brown eyes sparkling in a way that matched the wicked delight in her scent. Isaac was glancing around, shoulders hunched in the same turtle-like fashion as that morning, his own chemosignals full of worry and nerves. Boyd stood next to him, the two men flanking Erica a step or two behind her, same stoic expression on his face as always. Nothing new with him then.

The Alpha opened his mouth to speak, to tell them to leave, to point out the fact that despite everything he was still technically grounded and couldn't hang with people who'd deluded themselves into thinking he was a friend. But once more, Erica beat him to the punch, talking right over anything he may have wanted to say.

"The entire fucking school is talking about you, Alpha-Man," she declared before inviting herself inside, pushing right by him.

He huffed through his nose but stepped to the side, allowing a sheepish Isaac and a still stoic Boyd to enter as well, closing the door behind them. Erica had taken off her jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch before flopping onto it, legs hanging over the arm, completely at home. Boyd sat next to her and she rested against his broad arm as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Isaac sat on the dark-skinned man's other side, still withdrawn, arms wrapping around himself in a timid fashion.

Derek eyed each of them before bobbing his eyebrows in dismissive fashion, folding his arms as he stood across from them on the opposite side of the coffee table. He focused on Erica, knowing she was the one most likely to talk and explain what the fuck was going on and why the fuck they were there, not to mention he was hoping she'd explain what the hell she meant by the "whole school talking about him". Seemed liked a bit of a stretch, especially considering the fact that no one actually knew he was suspended or the reasons why.

Then again, small town and a small school. There was bound to be some gossip-monger somewhere who'd found out and told other gossip-mongering friends. And then they'd told their friends, who told their friends, who told their friends...

Fucking typical.

Nothing was fucking sacred anymore.

"Yeah, everyone heard that you beat Whittemore's ass this morning," Erica clarified, focusing on her purple painted nails, pouting at a chip she'd found on one of them. "Rumor has it you wolfed out and attacked him in the locker room for popping off at the mouth or some shit."

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned away from her and stared at nothing. "Not entirely the truth," he murmured, perfectly fine with admitting that much at least.

She shrugged like it didn't bother her either way. "I don't care about the reasons," she stated, getting snorts and dubious looks from all three men in the room. She put on an offended face, gesturing helplessly before waving a hand in dismissal. "Okay, fine, I'm actually _dying_ to know the reasons why, but it doesn't matter. I'm just glad someone put that prick in place. He walks around like he literally owns everyone and like he's hot shit, just 'cause he drives a fucking Porsche." She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Asshole."

Isaac and Boyd nodded in perfect synchronization, agreeing with her statement. And Derek found himself mirroring their action. Although "asshole" seemed to be putting it lightly.

"Gaping prolapsed anus" seemed more accurate, yet still too nice.

The front door opened and all four heads turned to it, finding Melissa walking in, paper bag of groceries in her arms. She jerked to a stop when she caught sight of them, head rearing back in surprise, and she forced a friendly smile on her face, aimed at the three guests.

"Uh. Hi," she greeted with a nervous laugh. "Wasn't expecting anyone. Or for Derek to have more than one friend."

Erica swung her legs onto the floor and popped up, grinning at her over the back of the couch. "We've all latched on and refuse to let him go, despite how much he fights it and us."

His mom cocked an eyebrow at that, finally closing the door, adjusting her falling purse strap as she turned back to the younger female. "Are you sure you wanna do that? He tends to be very prickly." At that, she met Derek's eye, giving him a pointed look full of upset and that—unfortunate—ever present disappointment.

The blond shrugged a shoulder, unbothered pout on her face. "We've dealt with worse." She said it so nonchalantly, but Derek felt her words like a punch to the gut. Isaac seemed to wince at the reminder of his shit home life while Boyd looked more closed off than ever and the Alpha was struck with the sudden need to fix things the way he had with Stiles.

Or at least, with Stiles' bully issue.

He hoped.

"Besides," Erica continued, turning her head to grin at Derek. "His surliness is part of his appeal. Like Grumpy Cat."

Oh fuck his life.

His mom's eyebrows raised momentarily, head seesawing as she apparently conceded the point and just didn't question it. "Well," she began, adjusting the bag she had perched on her hip. "Derek is technically grounded, but considering his reluctance to be social, letting you stay would be more of a punishment."

Erica smiled sweetly, scent turning reluctant, and he cocked an eyebrow at it before wiping the expression away. "As much as I would love to stay and bug Derek the rest of the evening—"

"It _is_ a favorite hobby of yours," he muttered and she flipped him off behind her back.

"We actually just came by to drop off some homework," she concluded, nudging Boyd.

The Alpha resisting the urge to snort at her cover story, knowing she'd really been by to pry into what happened and get some juicy gossip.

Another monger.

Boyd slipped a backpack around from where it'd been hanging off a shoulder, reaching inside and pulling out a manilla folder. He gestured to Derek with it before tossing it on the coffee table and the older man gave him a head bob in thanks and acknowledgment.

Melissa smiled, this time a bit more genuinely, gratitude on her features and in her scent. "Thank you. That was very kind."

Erica shrugged like it was no big deal—which to her it probably wasn't, since Boyd had been the one with the work in his bag—before standing up, her two Packmates rising with her. "Nice to see you again, Ms. M," she said with a smile, grabbing her jacket from where she'd left it laying, then turning to Derek. "I'll talk to ya soon, Alpha-Man," she promised with a smirk.

Meaning she was gonna get the details of his fight with Jackson from him soon by any means of annoyance and/or torture necessary.

Deep fucking joy.

He nodded once and waved as they filed out the house, each giving a friendly smile to Melissa as they passed her, she closing the door behind them.

Leaving Derek alone with his mom.

Well, shit.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, feeling beyond awkward. Because this was it, this was where his mom ripped him a new one. He knew she'd said she wasn't gonna bother continuing their earlier conversation due to his nonverbal tendencies, but she'd had hours to stew over everything, to over-think and over-analyze all of it. There was every possibility that she'd changed her mind, that she'd thought up of countless things she wanted to say. And he was about to hear all of it.

Melissa sighed resignedly, friendly disposition disappearing, welcoming smile fading from her face. She shoved her free hand through her still bound hair, staring at the floor, refusing to acknowledge the other person in the room. Cold shoulder technique. Okay, that was a new one coming from her but he could still handle it, could still deal with it.

He thought.

Alright, maybe not, given the way his wolf was whimpering and that grapefruit of guilt was back in his stomach, making him nauseous with it. He had a lot of making up to do, he'd known that for a while. He just had a lot further to go now.

Standing around silent and awkward wasn't helping.

"There any more groceries in the car?" he questioned, wordlessly offering his services to carry them in.

"Nope," she replied flatly, perfect enunciation, making her way to the kitchen.

"You need help putting things up?" he tried again, taking a step towards her only to stop when she did, her head turning to him and giving him the full force of her dead stare.

Shit. He'd managed to find the one thing that was worse than her disappointed expression: an uncaring one.

"You can stop trying to kiss ass and get on my good side with volunteering for chores because it's not gonna work," she told him with a slight bite to her words, dark eyes icy. "I honestly just don't want to deal with you or even look at you right now so it would be in your best interests to do what you're best at and lock yourself in your room with zero interactions with anyone."

He inhaled sharply at her words, each syllable like a stab in the chest. It was just like the previous night when he'd finally gotten what he wanted—to be left alone—right when he was no longer sure if he even wanted it anymore.

"I'll call you when dinner's ready," she told him, one last blow to the gut, before continuing on her way to the kitchen.

Derek stared after her for a long moment, wolf whimpering and the human part of him wanting to make the same noise out loud. He felt the back of his eyes sting and he sniffed before picking up the folder of homework and slinking his way to the stairs then up them.

If he was shifted, his tail would've been between his legs. And rightfully so.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Maria wound up bringing him his dinner, which was further proof of how badly he'd fucked up. He finished the homework he'd been given, worked on his Lit project some more, then called it an early night, nothing else to do.

He dreamt about Stiles that night but rather than fucking and knotting him, he'd just clung to the Omega and cried as he begged for forgiveness. Stiles gave it to him and he woke up feeling even more sick with guilt than before, knowing he didn't deserve it.

His run was twice as long, partially for something to do, partially to get rid of nervous energy due to the full moon the next night, partially to get out of his own head for a while. Everyone was gone by the time he returned home and he indulged in a cliche long shower where he spent more time having existential thoughts about the meaning of his life than actual washing. Clean and changed into a pair of sweats and a black v-neck, he flopped facedown onto the bed and passed out.

Derek came to sometime later to the doorbell ringing. He let out a groan but made no effort to move—save for pulling a pillow over his head—mentally willing the person to go away. He still didn't get up when the bell rang a second time, then a third, hoping the person would take a hint. A check of his phone showed no messages, nothing from Melissa or Maria alerting him to any deliveries or repairmen stopping by for any reason, and he couldn't recall any conversation about such a thing either—not that it would matter, since his mom had a habit of telling him things like that at least three times and then texting an additional reminder "just in case".

No one important, meaning Derek wasn't getting up for whoever the fuck it was.

When the visitor finally realized this after their fourth ignored chime, they began repeatedly hitting the doorbell in quick succession, as well as pounding at the door with their fist. Derek popped his torso off the mattress, pillow falling off his head and to the side, letting out a low annoyed growl at whatever irritating jackass was pulling that shit. Clearly they weren't gonna take the hint and fuck off back to wherever they came so he'd have to tell them in person.

Fucking great.

He grumbled to himself as he pushed himself up and off the bed, movements spurned on by how very fucking annoying the ringing and banging was becoming, otherwise he would've taken his sweet time, shuffling along at his own sedate pace. Instead, he thundered down the stairs, stomped down the hall, feet pounding down the main stairs before he marched to the front door and threw it open.

To find the sheriff in full regalia, finger on the bell, fist raised to keep knocking.

Not who he was expecting to find.

His eyes went wide, brows high-fiving his hairline, lips parting in shock as he let out a prolonged noise from the back of his throat, mind struggling to come up with actual words. Well, words that weren't bleeped out on TV anyway.

"Mornin', Derek," the sheriff drawled, easygoing smile on his face that made the werewolf even more uncomfortable and anxious.

He clapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard, corner of his lips twitching up as he tried to smile back, tried to act just as casual as the older man. And failed, if he was being honest with himself.

"Sheriff," he replied somewhat flatly, voice raspy from sleep and he cleared his throat to get rid of it and the nerves, surreptitiously glancing behind John in the hopes of seeing some sort of clue or hint as to why he was there. But all he saw was an empty street, a couple bird pecking at the front lawn, a squirrel bounding across the road, crows cawing from the electricity line on the other side of the street.

Focusing in the visitor, he pulled his brow into a puzzled frown, pointing behind himself with his thumb. "My mom's not home," he stated, working hard to keep his tone casual and not make it seem like he was trying to keep the other man away from his Alpha's mate. Again. "No one's home really."

Stilinski shrugged like it was no biggie, hands clasping the buckle of his utility belt. "That's fine. I'm here to talk to _you_ anyway."

Derek's eyebrows raised in surprise once more, the expression quickly wiped away. He scented the air, trying to catch a whiff of his chemosignals and coming up with nothing but determination and resolution and a fierce sort of protectiveness. Shit. Stiles.

He swallowed hard once more, shifting his weight between his feet, trying his best to keep his arms by his sides and not wrap them around himself in case the position was misconstrued as defensive. Which maybe he was feeling a little bit. But when a uniformed officer shows up at your door wanting to talk to you, you get a little defensive, especially after you'd gotten in trouble the day before.

Especially when you were legally an adult by both werewolf and human standards and you'd beaten the shit out of a technical minor.

Fuck.

"Am I in more trouble?" he asked cautiously, eyebrow quirked in curiosity and a little confusion.

John shook his head, unbothered pout on his face. "Nah. I actually came to ask a favor."

That had Derek's brows raising for a third time in less than a minute. Because the older man's heartbeat was completely steady, meaning he was being completely sincere, and the werewolf had no idea what to do with that info. There was nothing he could really offer that couldn't be given by anyone else, nothing he'd really done to earn the man's trust enough to fulfill this request. Sure, he'd stood up for his son the day before, but as far as he knew, John was completely unaware of that fact.

Unless Stiles came clean about it that night but Derek had a hard time believing the kid would do such a thing. Otherwise, the sheriff would've handled Stiles' bullying problem a long time ago. But since it was still happening—or at least had been as of the day before—Derek had no choice but to think Stiles had kept it all to himself out of fear of the repercussions that would come with tattling to his daddy, law enforcement or not.

No. Stiles hadn't told anyone, especially not his sheriff father, so the favor John was asking for was something Derek just couldn't fucking understand.

"Can I come in?" Stilinski requested, polite, cordial. "It'd be better if we did this away from nosy neighbors and prying eyes."

Derek just nodded dumbly before moving to the side, opening the door wider in a silent invitation. His heart was pounding, wolf whining, both sides of him clearly believing this had to do with Stiles. Really, it was what they both had in common—well, that and Melissa, but Derek had the feeling the man wasn't there to gain permission to ask her out. No, that protectiveness was still in his scent, a smell Derek only ever caught around parents when defending their kids, and he knew without a doubt, this conversation would be about Stiles.

John gave him a grateful smile before stepping inside, walking past him and heading straight for the living room. The werewolf took a deep breath to steady his nerves then closed the door, shuffling over to join the other man. He nodded when Stilinski pointed at the armchair in silent permission to sit, lowering himself onto the center cushion of the couch before remembering his fucking manners that he still had.

"D'you want a drink or anything?" he offered, pointing to the kitchen with his thumb, tensing his legs to stand back up again.

The guest shook his hand and waved it off. "Nah. I won't be long," he stated as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his fingers loosely entwined. "Like I said, I just wanted to ask a favor."

Derek nodded as he fought to remain casual, legs splayed, hands clasped on his lap. "With what?"

John's bottom lip pulled down, displaying his teeth, wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced as he winced. Reluctance spread into his scent, as though he was second-guessing his decision, thinking that maybe asking was a mistake. So Derek kept his mouth shut, waited him out, if for no other reason than curiosity.

And, admittedly, because he had a gut-feeling Stiles was involved and the masochistic part of him was dying to hear more about the Omega, for better or worse.

Fuck, after the day before, he hoped like hell it was for better.

The sheriff took a deep breath, bracing himself, shoring his courage, nodding absently to himself before speaking. "I'm sure by now you've figured out it's about Stiles."

Fucking shocker.

Although it was kind of nerve-wracking waiting to find out what exactly about Stiles the older Stilinski was going to discuss and why it would involve Derek.

Unless he _did_ find out about why Derek had gotten in that altercation at school the day before. Even if Stiles hadn't told his dad, the guy was the fucking _sheriff_. He didn't get that job sitting on his ass doing nothing. No, he'd proven himself over the years to be a good cop and worthy of people's votes and support in order to get elected to the position. So chances were the man had figured it out for himself somehow in some way. It was just a matter of Derek and/or Stiles admitting that his theory was correct.

"He's never actually said anything," John went on, staring more at the coffee table than at Derek, scent hurt and a little disappointed. "But I can tell he's being picked on at school. The remarks he makes about being bullied that he thinks are jokes, the bruises that aren't quite healed, ones he tries to pass off as lacrosse injuries even though any sport tends not to involve a bruise across one's throat." At that, he lifted his head and gave Derek a pointed look, saying that it was obvious he was referring to the mark that'd been across Stiles' neck in the principal's office the day before.

The werewolf didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't agree nor argue. He didn't wanna betray Stiles like that, nor did he wanna lie to the guy's father—which he told himself was self-preservation, not wanting to be busted by the sheriff or have it come back to bite him in the ass when he was in enough trouble as it was, but that didn't feel entirely right. So he waited in silent stillness for the man to continue

"It doesn't take a genius to see what's _really_ going on," the older man pointed out, gesturing with his still clasped hands. "But I like to think that what happened yesterday was that you—" he pointed at Derek "—somehow stumbled upon Stiles being bullied and intervened on his behalf."

He still didn't say anything but he found it hard to look at the man and not speak. Turning his head away, he stared straight ahead at the fireplace, at the mantle with a framed photo of what had once been his family situated prominently in the middle, a Day of the Dead skull on the side by his dad. His dad had been the one to teach him and Scott both the importance of looking out for those weaker than them, to not use their Alpha—or werewolf—strength or powers to harm anyone. Derek wondered that if his dad had still been alive, would he have admitted to Stiles being bullied, would he have told about how he'd stood up for the Omega, would his dad have been proud?

Moot point really. Because had his dad still been alive, he wouldn't have been forced into moving to Cali and wouldn't have met Stiles in the first place.

John let out a small sigh, but his scent grew lighter, happier, more pleased. "I'm taking your refusal to answer as an agreement," he informed, smiling at the shrug Derek gave in response. "Which is why I talked Mr Whittemore out of pressing charges against you."

His head snapped over at that, eyes wide. Sure, the thought had occurred to him that it was a possibility he'd go to jail for it, but having that fact said out loud... And then John had argued on his behalf, talked the lawyer out of it, all for a kid who'd done nothing but give him attitude and act rudely towards his son.

Although he probably didn't know about that second part.

Still, the first part was enough of a reason to say " _fuck that guy_ " and let him get locked up.

"Thank you," he murmured, shocked into gratitude and manners.

John shrugged it off. "You seem like a good kid deep down, despite the anti-social attitude, but given your current situation—" he trailed off and ended it with another shrug, scent turning melancholic.

Derek remembered once more about how Stiles had lost his mom, his werewolf parent, and that his own mom wasn't the only one who'd lost a Mate. Time doesn't always heal, not fully, a fact he was slowly coming to realize through first-hand experience and despite the years that had passed since the death of Mrs Stilinski, the wounds obviously were still raw, still stung for the sheriff.

The older man cleared his throat before going on. "And like I said, I need a favor and I feel like you'd be the best one suited for it."

The reminder of such had Derek's eyebrow quirking again, and he knew he had practically no choice but to agree to it, no matter what it was. Even without the implication that he now owed _the sheriff of Beacon County_ for not throwing him in jail, helping others out and doing them favors was part of turning his attitude around and being less of an asshole.

Which he was still kinda wavering on whether or not he wanted to actually do that.

He supposed with sitting in a room with the aforementioned sheriff, at that moment, he wanted to. Non-assholes tended not to get locked up.

"Stiles won't talk to me about the bullying, or anything really," John stated, resigned and disheartened, seesawing his head in a "what can you do?" fashion. "I dunno if it's 'cause I'm his dad or a cop or not a wolf and don't get it, but I was hoping maybe _you_ could. I've taught him some self-defense stuff, but maybe you could teach him some wolf stuff?"

Derek frowned, not entirely sure what "wolf stuff" even meant, much less if he even wanted to do it. Because that meant spending time with Stiles, most likely alone, and... and as much as he was a wolf, he was also human. A man could only take so much temptation before he gave in and he was already having issues trying to resist the Omega and everything he was offering—like the "blanket consent" he gave to touch and to pin him against things, thoughts that Derek should definitely not dwell on while in the company of the guy's _father_. Being around Stiles more, one-on-one time without the distractions of other people and their scents and their ability to step in when shit got to be too much, it wasn't gonna make it easier to not touch or pin or hold or kiss or knot or any of the other five-hundred things Derek wanted to do to and with the guy.

Hell, he'd pinned the teen against the wall that first night with his family in the next room. He pinned him against his car out in the middle of the street. Not much had deterred Derek or his instincts when it came to putting his hands all over the guy.

Teaching "wolf stuff" sounded like something that would happen with just the two of them alone and that... that sounded fucking dangerous.

But he owed John for figuratively bailing him out. And he knew there was no way he could completely get rid of Stiles' bullying problem—although he liked to think he'd taken care of Jackson and maybe rumors would swirl about why Derek had assaulted him and others would learn not to fuck with Stiles—but maybe teaching him "wolf stuff" would help him defend himself in the future.

Not that he knew what he could teach an Omega, and a minor one at that, one who wasn't entirely developed and didn't have his full powers yet.

Still...

He was thinking in circles without reaching a decision, only ever coming back to one point: _he owed John_.

And with that thought in mind, Derek nodded, wringing the back of his neck as he exhaled long through his nose. "I'll do it," he agreed with a weak smile, the expression eclipsed by the wide smile on the sheriff's face and the gratitude overpowering his scent.

Yet for all the positivity the sheriff was radiating, Derek couldn't help but feel like he'd signed his own death warrant.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek was sitting on the Stilinski's front stoop when he heard the familiar rumble of Stiles' Jeep turn down the street and by the time the behemoth made it to the house, the Alpha was waiting on the driveway where the passenger side door would be when the car was parked.

Except Stiles stopped at the end of the driveway and killed the engine, glaring at the older man through the windshield, both hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, Derek could see the white on his knuckles even at his distance.

The Alpha bobbed his head to the side in concession. Clearly the younger man was still pissed and understandably so. Their last interaction didn't go all that well and ended with Derek once again dismissing any possibility of them ever being anything beyond classmates and neighbors and Stiles yelling to stop giving him mixed signals. Yet there the older man was, standing on the driveway in his jeans and a black v-neck, acting like he belonged there.

Derek would be pissed, too.

He approached the passenger side slowly, cautiously, hands loosely at his sides to show he wasn't a threat, feet scuffing along the tarred drive as he meandered over. He was giving Stiles an out, giving him a chance to put the Jeep in reverse and hightail it outta there, although he wasn't sure if he was doing it for the Omega's sake or for an excuse to say he tried but oh well.

The younger man's head stayed locked straight ahead but his eyes followed the Alpha, glare shifting into a skeptical frown as he tried to figure out what was going on. He finally moved when Derek reached the door, sniffing and ducking his head, fingers flexing around the steering wheel, leather creaking over the pinging of the cooling down engine. But he still didn't fully acknowledge the older man, didn't say hi, tell him to fuck off, ask him what was going on. Stiles, for once, was silent.

Derek felt his wolf pin its ears back in unease, worried, the emotion leaking over to the human half. But he'd expected a less than warm welcome, expected someone as stubborn as Stiles was rumored to be to act it and give him shit for the way he'd been treated.

Which was why the locked door was also expected.

Still fucking annoying though.

The Alpha huffed through his nose as he tugged fruitlessly at the handle before rapping his knuckles on the window. "Stiles, unlock the door. Please," he added on the last part in hopes it would make the teen more amenable.

Apparently not, judging by the rolling jaw and head shake he got, Stiles staring straight ahead out his windshield. "Nope."

"Stiles. _Please_ ," he tried again, keeping his voice level and calm, resisting the urge to give in to instincts telling him he was a fucking _Alpha_ and that he should just bust the window open, reach inside, and unlock it himself.

Mainly because a) it was rude and b) he had the distinct feeling Stiles would literally murder him if he harmed his Jeep in any way, shape, form, or fashion. He was a fan of being alive.

The Omega twisted his lips in annoyance, glaring out the windshield, refusing to look at the older man for any reason. "Why should I?" he demanded to know, voice slightly muffled by the window.

Derek sighed, smearing a hand down his face, bracing himself for a fight. "Because I wanna talk to you."

He shrugged a shoulder. "We're talking right now."

He bobbed his eyebrows in concession. "Right," he agreed. "But I want us to talk somewhere more private where the neighbors aren't staring at us through their windows and anyone passing by can't listen in." He gave the younger man a pointed look, knowing it was noticed when Stiles peeked at him out the corner of his eye.

Stiles flexed his hands around the steering wheel again, shifting in his seat. His glare shifted into a thoughtful frown as he glanced over at Derek, then again, lips twisting some more. "And you wanna talk in my car and not in the house?" he asked skeptically, eyebrow cocked, focus out the windshield once more.

"I was hoping we could go somewhere else actually," the Alpha admitted while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, slight wince on his face, unsure how the other man would react.

The younger man finally turned his head to him, brow furrowed again, lips parted in confusion. "Aren't you grounded?"

He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Probably triple grounded at this point, but that hasn't stopped me from going out," he stated, scratching at his whiskered jaw. "Plus my mom thinks me being social is a punishment so I doubt she'd have an issue with this."

The ire returned to Stiles' face, features hardening, brown eyes icy as he scowled. "So being around me is a punishment?" he spat out, jaw clenching, and Derek was suddenly glad the window was up, almost afraid of how spicy with anger the Omega's scent must've been at that point.

Because of him.

Shit.

He roughed his hand over his face, glancing to the side for a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out what to say in order to fix what he just fucked up. Only he wasn't entirely sure he could

Shit again.

Turning back, he found Stiles still glaring, and he took a moment to try once more to think up the right response, licking his lips as a ploy to fill time. "Not exactly," he answered honestly, watching Stiles' face fall ever so slightly before he regain control of his scowl once more. "Your dad wants me to talk to you and I thought we could do that somewhere more private and neutral, rather than in one of our houses."

The Omega worked his jaw in agitation once more, swiping a finger under his nose. "Like where?"

Reaching into his back pocket, Derek slipped out the directions Boyd had given him only two days prior, unfolding the paper and putting it against the window so Stiles could get a good look at it. "I was hoping we could check this place out."

Whiskey eyes flickered over the papers quickly scanning the words before nodding. "Fine," he sighed out, leaning over and pulling up the lock on the door then straightening back up. "Get in."

Derek nodded once in response, giving a curt "thanks" before doing as he was told, having to slam the door shut behind himself in order to get it to catch.

Nothing else was said as he put his seat belt on and Stiles started the engine back up, music blasting through the speakers and making the doors rattle, some pop-punk band that Derek had heard coming from Scott's room but he didn't know. The Omega looked him up and down, scent a jumbled, indecipherable mess, then let out a sigh before backing out of the driveway. It was gonna be a long afternoon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The directions Boyd had given completely went past the main entrance of the Preserve, Stiles driving his Jeep around the side of it and parking at the end of a barely formed path. Neither of them had spoken the entire drive, Stiles still slightly stewing in his aggravation, Derek having no clue what to say. He knew what the sheriff _wanted_ them to talk about, but he had no idea how exactly to start that conversation, how to go about it. Stiles had kept it all hidden for so long, it was highly unlikely he was just gonna spill his guts for any reason, especially not to someone he was still pissed at.

But he had to try.

Didn't he?

Technically no. He could always just tell the sheriff he'd given it a shot but Stiles was a stubborn asshole and said nothing. And with John being human—and his son _actually_ being an actual stubborn asshole—he'd have no idea Derek was lying.

But...

But part of Derek _wanted_ to try, wanted to talk to Stiles in the most likely futile attempt to actually get the guy to open up and tell the truth about the bullying and the bigotry he faced everyday. He couldn't explain why, except to say it was some primal need to protect an Omega, to take care of any and all threats, to keep him safe and protected and happy and that wasn't happening with people shoving him into lockers and pounding him solely for being perceived as a member of the so-called weaker subset.

Yet he still had no clue how to get Stiles to admit to being bullied.

The twosome exited the Jeep, Derek taking a deep inhale, taking in the scents of the forested area. It was a whole lot different than the park he shifted in with his dad, with the smell of tar and garbage and exhaust always an underlying note. Out here it was fresher, cleaner, sap and wood and dirt and decaying plant life that all combined into a strangely pleasing aroma that had his wolf rolling onto its back, tongue lolling out its mouth in happiness and contentment. It was nature at its most purest, something he couldn't experience in the city, and suddenly, small town life didn't seem so bad.

Stiles glanced around with his fists shoved in the pockets of his burgundy jeans, black Halsey tee and worn white Adidas sneakers completing his look. Derek watched as he scented the air, exhaling long through his nose, shoulders slumping as he relaxed, knowing there was no danger. Licking his lips, the Omega turned to him, wry grin on his face but scent still carrying a hint of nerves.

"Don't suppose you made me drive out here so you could kill me, huh?" he joked with a nervous laugh, smirk not quite reaching his eyes.

Derek rolled to just his eyes, but his whole head, huffing through his nose. "I already told you, I don't hate you."

"Actually," the younger man interjected, holding a finger up before shoving his fist back in his pocket. "You told me you don't not like me." This time his smirk was more genuine, proud that he was able to be an argumentative smart ass.

Typical.

"Whatever. Either way, I'm not gonna murder you," he stated, scenting the air and finding barely there traces of other werewolves that had passed through. Faded, so it'd been a while since they'd been there, and it was only a couple of them at most, maybe a single familial Pack.

Like his own had been.

Swallowing hard, he shoved the thought away, focusing on the here and now, on why he'd come there in the first place. "Like I said, your dad wanted me to talk to you and I wanted to check this place out."

Stiles nodded, still looking around, pressing his lips into a hard line as he thought. "Why'd you wanna come here anyway? What is this place?"

Derek glanced around as well, taking in the wind rustling the browning leaves, the bird chirping in a tree, a chipmunk darting out from a bush and racing into a hollow log like something out a Disney movie. "Boyd told me about it, said it wasn't all that crowded and would be a good place to shift tomorrow night. Figured I'd check it out before making a decision about whether I wanted to come here or not."

"Kinda leaving it to the last minute, aren't ya?"

He shrugged, not all that bothered. "Honestly didn't really get a chance to until now."

The Omega nodded again like he understood, turning to look at Derek, eyes narrowed analytically. "Why'd you drag me with you? I mean, you have a car, so it's not like you needed a ride or anything."

He shrugged again, scratching at a sideburn. "Your dad also wanted me to help you with. _Wolf stuff_." He shrugged once again, shaking his head with it this time as he made a helpless gesture to show he had no fucking clue what that even meant. Still.

Stiles snorted, eyes rolling. "The fuck does that mean?"

"No clue." He glanced around, finding a space between some trees that had a barely worn footpath and nodded to it with his head before walking in that direction, the younger man following close behind. "I guess he means things like finding an Anchor or controlling the shift, shit like that."

Stiles snorted again. "Yeah, I guess," he muttered absently, tripping on a stick and grabbing hold of Derek's shoulder to prevent himself from falling.

The Alpha peeked over to make sure he was okay, ignoring how long the teen's fingers were, how large his palm was, how he managed to completely cup the round of his shoulder. Stiles cleared his throat as he dropped his hand and Derek immediately missed its warmth, missed the tingles that had shot down his arm at the contact and the buzzing underneath his skin and the way his wolf had practically purred in contentment at such an innocent touch.

But he didn't say any of that, didn't tell Stiles it was okay, didn't try and soothe the hint of embarrassment and awkwardness out of the younger man's scent. Instead, he continued to make his way through the trees, Stiles right beside him, enjoying the fresh air, the sights of nothing but forest and no skyscrapers in the background.

It was a long few minutes of silence before Derek remembered why Stiles was even with him in the first place, and he scratched at his whiskered jaw before speaking. "You wanna talk about it?" he offered, glancing at the other man out the corner of his eye.

Stiles scoffed. "Thought _you_ were gonna teach _me_ shit."

Right. It was _Stiles_ he was dealing with, a stubborn asshole whose biggest hobby was being a shit to everyone. Derek had forgotten that fact for a minute there.

The Alpha rolled his eyes, ducking under a low hanging branch, boots crunching the leaves beneath him. "I meant talk about what happened yesterday," he clarified, giving a pointed look at his walking companion, knowing he'd get the hint and know exactly what he was referring to.

Which, judging by the way Stiles' eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched it, the hint had clearly been taken.

"Nothin' to talk about," he muttered, scowling straight ahead at nothing in particular, kicking at a pile of leaves like a petulant kid. "I'm used to getting shit for being an Omega. Comes with the territory."

Derek bit back a growl at that, something possessive sparking inside him, his wolf raising its own hackles. Anger had his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing into slits as they flashed red. No one should be just resigned to abuse like that, no one should believe that their lot in life included getting picked on and bullied due to some bullshit notion that they're weaker.

Especially not Stiles.

"Doesn't make it okay," Derek commented, slight rumble to his words as his wolf seemed to make its own thoughts known, too.

Stiles shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, resigned as he stared at the ground, feet still scuffing along the way. He didn't seem to agree, or believe, or even care to do either of those things, accepting the thought that he really was just set-up for a life of discrimination and abuse.

Which was bullshit.

"I mean it," he insisted, turning the full force of his serious expression on the teen. "No one should ever make anyone feel like they're less than someone else or treat them like shit because they think they're better for some fucked up reason."

The Omega gave him a sideways glance, brow furrowed analytically, scent skeptical. "That why you got involved and went after Jackson like that?"

He turned away, shrugging, pushing aside a thin limb from a sapling as he passed it. "That was part of it, yeah," he admitted lowly, swallowing hard, unable to look at Stiles, to see his reaction. It was bad enough catching the scent of his confusion and that ozone spark of hope as it flared to life once more.

Shit. That hadn't been his intention at fucking all. He'd spent their past two conversations trying to tamp that hope down, to put that fire out, to make sure that Stiles wasn't hopeful about any chance of anything happening between them. And now...

Now it didn't matter because that hope was back and Derek was gonna have to be a dick again and smash it all to hell once more.

Fuck.

"Did you, uh," Stiles began then paused, peeking at Derek out the corner of his eyes, head ducked down as he focused more on the uneven ground beneath them. "Did you also do it because you care about me?"

"Doesn't matter," he quickly responded, refusing to admit it, refusing to be caught in a lie.

Refusing to actually lie to Stiles at all.

The teen snorted with such vehemence his head rocked, eyes rolling so hard it had to hurt. "It matters to me," he stated harshly, venom in his words, head snapping to the side as he pointed a finger at the older man in warning. "And don't you fucking dare say it's just a biological imperative that had the Alpha protecting the Omega or so help me, I will castrate you and leave you to bleed out right here in the Preserve." There was a fire in his eyes and in his words that had Derek believing that he meant it and he turned away, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze for a moment longer.

He couldn't think up a good response, anything that wasn't enough of the truth to get away with a hint of a lie, to hide his own real feelings, anything that wouldn't piss Stiles off and leave him neutered, so he smeared a hand down his face, clearing his mental slate with the action. "That's not why we're out here," he reminded him, changing the subject.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him for a long moment before realizing their previous topic was officially dropped and there was no point in trying to backtrack and continue it. "Right," he scoffed. "Wolf stuff." He shocked his head in disbelief, fists in his pockets once again. "Although really, I highly doubt there's anything you could teach me that I haven't already found out on the internet."

It was Derek's turn to scoff and roll his eyes. "Don't believe everything you read on there, all right? Half of it is bullshit based on false legends or humans who don't know jack thinking they're experts or made-up shit created to demonize us and create more hate for anti-wolf propaganda."

The Omega rolled his entire head, body doing a weird shimmy in a wordless comment of exasperation. "Fine, then teach me shit."

Eloquent as always.

And also incredibly vague and Derek was left once again mentally scrambling to decipher the meaning of a Stilinski man's words. Because he had no idea what to teach Stiles, _how_ to teach him.

Fucking eh, what was he doing?

"Whaddya wanna know?" he asked, passing the buck, thinking it would be easier to let Stiles decide where to start and where to go.

That spark of hope came back to his scent, lips curling up in a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "All right," he began, still smirking, and Derek had the sinking feeling he was in trouble. Or at least about to be. "Do you like me? And not just in a 'I tolerate your existence' or 'I don't hate you' kinda way. I mean, _like_ like me."

Jesus Christ, he was a third grader. Next he'll be passing Derek a note saying ' _do you wanna be my boyfriend? Check yes or no_ ' with two boxes right below it.

And he had no idea which box he'd mark, in all honesty.

He glared at the younger man, pissed he was being put in that spot again, pissed Stiles was annoying relentless about all of it. "Anything but that."

Stiles huffed, pouting, glancing around as they kept walking, nearly stumbling on a protruding root. "Okaaaay," he stretched the word out, irritated as well. "Why didn't you tell everyone the truth about why you beat up Jackson?"

Derek cocked an eyebrow, scowl gone, replaced with a disbelieving stare out the corner of his eye. He'd thought that had been settled already, that he'd explained all that and they'd put it to bed, that his generic bullshit over not liking the strong picking in the meek for any reason had been enough for the subject to be dropped. "I already told you why," he grumbled, jaw grit.

"Right," the Omega agreed, scratching at his forehead with a finger. "But I just." He cut himself off with a huff, gesturing to nothing before letting his hand drop with a slap, scent frustrated but aimed more at himself. "I didn't think you gave enough of a shit about me to go along with what I wanted. Anyone else would've just tried to save their own ass and say whatever they could to get out of trouble, other people be damned. But not you. And I don't get why." At that, he turned to Derek, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, like if he concentrated hard enough he could find the answer written on the older man's face or somehow develop telepathic powers.

The Alpha felt dissected once again, just like he had the previous morning with Erica. And once again, he couldn't handle it, especially not coming from Stiles. Because he was weak under that whiskey stare, because those analytical amber eyes were threatening to tear him apart and he knew he'd let it happen. He'd spill his guts, confess anything and everything, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

Alphas were the stronger dynamic, but this Omega wielded an intense power over him.

It was terrifying.

Derek swallowed hard, ducking his head and staring at his boot-covered feet as he walked over broken twigs and crunching leaves, taking care as he stepped over an exposed root that rose several inches off the ground. It wasn't a hard question, not really, and his wolf was yowling in his head as it tried to answer for him. But the implications behind the words and what they would actually mean, as well as the result that would come from them, _that_ was the hard part.

That he didn't say shit because he knew Stiles wouldn't want him to and his instincts were constantly screaming at him to just do whatever Stiles desired. And he was starting to believe it was no longer an Alpha's biological need to please an Omega, that it was because it was _Stiles_ making the request.

Fucking terrifying.

Clearing his throat, Derek lifted his head, staring straight ahead as he thought of a response that was enough of the truth to pass for a good explanation, while hiding the main reason why. "Because that's not how I was raised," he began with a nonchalant shrug, his father's face in his mind. "I was brought up to respect everyone, regardless of dynamic or species or gender or whatever. And I figured if you wanted it known that Jackson was giving you shit, you would've spoken up. But since you didn't, I kept my mouth shut.

Stiles nodded, lips pressed together and brow furrowed in thought. His scent was contemplative, eyes seeming far away, taking in Derek's words rather than the chirping birds or scurrying rodents.

"Why don't you want anyone to know?" the elder man asked after a long moment of silence, watching the other out the corner of his eye. "Bullying would've stopped had you just gone to someone for help."

The Omega's scent grew stronger, laced with embarrassment that was almost overpowered by anger and frustration. "I already get shit just for being the so-called weaker dynamic. Telling someone that I was getting picked on makes it seem like I can't handle anything hard being thrown my way and just plays into stereotypes."

Derek nodded, scratching his jaw. "That's what I figured. And why I didn't say anything." He lowered his hand, using it to push away a branch and signaling Stiles to walk ahead of him. "Not that I believe any of that shit about Omegas being weaker," he clarified as he followed the younger man, releasing the branch with a thwap. "I'm sure there _are_ weaker ones, but not every single one of them. It varies." He winced, feeling like a moron and like he wasn't really making a point. At least not an intelligible one.

Amusement was rolling off Stiles, in his scent and in the grin he was struggling to hold back, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks. For not thinking I'm weak. And for not saying anything to anyone." His face grew serious as he nodded, scratching a sideburn and clearing his throat. "Means a lot."

The elder man shrugged it off, not seeing the big deal. What he'd done was what any decent person would do, human or werewolf. Like he'd told Stiles, it was just how he was raised, his parents both drilling good manners and behavior into him.

Although recently he wasn't exactly following their lessons. Shit, his dad would be completely disappointed in him if he was still alive. And it was no wonder shit was so strained between him and his mom. Sure, he could sit there and point the finger at her, blame her for the distance between them, her zombie behavior and lack of maternal actions after her husband's death causing them to drift apart. But it wasn't all her. It was his own douchebaggery once she'd snapped herself out of it, his own shit behavior and pushing her away and calling her "Melissa".

God, he was a bigger dick than he'd realized. He'd completely cut her off when she made an effort to return to a somewhat normal life. He'd expected her to understand what he was going through with losing his dad and Alpha while not even attempting to think of how much she must've been hurting from losing her husband. She might not have been a wolf and it wasn't like losing a Mate for them, but she still loved him fiercely to the end. She'd married the man despite her mother's disapproval of werewolves, she'd stayed across the country from her family for him, she'd had his kids and created a whole new family with him. That was her husband, her soul mate, the father of her children, and she'd lost him.

And Derek had been a selfish, uncaring asshole who refused to understand or think about what she was going through.

Okay, not the train of thought he wanted to hop on. Definitely not why he was out in the Preserve with Stiles.

At that, he turned his head, taking in the teen he was walking alongside of. The injuries were gone, but the memory of them were burned into Derek's mind forever. The cut lip, the red mark across his throat, the bruise on his jaw. He could still clearly hear the hiss of pain Stiles let out as he moved with sore ribs, the grunts as he bit back groans, the gasp he made when he was able to breathe again.

And Derek only knew of those two instances. God knew how many other times he'd been shoved around by Jackson, or even other assholes. God knew how many bruises he'd worn or hisses he'd let out. God knew how much more was to come.

But Stiles had endured it all, was gonna continue to endure it all, out of pride and a stubborn refusal to appear weak by asking for help.

Or maybe...because he was in the mindset that if he ignored the problem then it didn't exist, wasn't real. Denial was a strong coping mechanism. The only problem was when that bubble was burst and reality came crashing in. In the form of a five-foot-nine blond Beta jizz-rag.

"You know," he began, pausing to lick his lips. "Your dad's picked up on the fact that you're getting bullied."

Stiles bobbed his eyebrows in dismissal. "He picks up on a lotta shit. Being the _sheriff_ and all." He gave the older man an unamused look, the "duh" going unsaid. "That why he asked you to talk to me?"

Derek shrugged, still not entire sure of John's intentions or why he'd wanted Derek to talk to his son. "I guess," he murmured, scratching at his jaw. "He probably thought you needed to talk to a mature wolf peer or something, get a wolf perspective, talk to someone who understands that side of you, that sorta thing." He dropped his hand, shoving both in the pockets of his jeans. "Also as a favor for talking Whittemore out of pressing charges."

The Omega's eyes went wide at that, brows shooting up as shock and indignation flooded his scent. His features schooled into a scowl as he glared at nothing right ahead of him, as he muttered a few choice words about Jackson under his breath that would definitely be bleeped on television. He roughed his hands over his face, wiping it all away, shaking it all off with a full body wiggle. "You said your mom would probably see this as a punishment, making you be social," he stated, reminding Derek of his earlier words when he was trying to get Stiles to unlock the Jeeps doors. "Does it seriously feel that way to you?"

Well shit. If that wasn't the million dollar question right there.

He glanced at Stiles, at his upturned nose and mole-dotted skin and cupid's bow lips. The sun peeked through an opening in the trees, highlighting his cheekbones and strong jawline, his eyes a sparkling amber that made Derek's next inhale get caught in his throat. His heart thudded in his chest, wolf showing its belly with its tongue lolling out its mouth, his own stomach doing this weird swooping thing that he'd never really experienced before. But despite the strange reaction, there was a warmth swelling inside, like just the sight of Stiles was enough to thaw away the ice that had frozen him over the moment he'd been told about his dad's death. And it was then that Derek realized he could actually be _happy_ if he let it happen, if he let Stiles in the way the Omega wanted.

He just wasn't sure if he wanted it himself.

Because once he had Stiles, he had Stiles to lose, to be taken away. It was better to protect himself from future hurt by keeping up those walls, by keeping Stiles away, by keeping himself closed off.

But being around Stiles, it was hard to remember why he needed to do just that. Everything about the Omega was tempting, drawing him in. His scent, those lips, his pale skin that was practically begging to be marked by Derek's teeth—with permission, of course. All of it was appealing to his wolf, to the Alpha part of him, and he felt like the logical, human part of him was fighting a losing battle against his instincts when usually, every side of him was working together in perfect synchronicity. He felt upside down and inside out and it was all because of Stiles, and Derek had the very distinct feeling that if he were to just give in and be with Stiles, the chaos in his head would calm and every part of him would line back up and work together once again.

But he couldn't let that happen.

Wouldn't let it happen.

"Honestly?" he began, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head. "In some ways, yeah, it is."

The reaction was immediate, Stiles' scent plummeting into sadness and disappointment. His face fell, head ducking to hide the upset expression, the way his eyes turned down at the corners and his lips curved the wrong way.

Shit.

"I meant," the Alpha quickly tried to save his response, to better explain what he meant, to make Stiles understand and cheesily—and lamely—turn that frown upside down. Only he had no idea where the fuck his thought had been going or what the fuck to say or anything like that.

Shit again.

"Have you ever denied yourself something you want really bad?" Derek tried again, thumbs hooked on his belt loops.

Stiles frowned with a slight pout to his lips. "Not really, no. I pretty much always go after it. Usually I'm the one getting denied." His lips quirked up at the corners at his self-deprecating joke, but the sadness had returned to his scent and Derek had a feeling the Omega wasn't just referring to him.

He brushed it aside as a thought to obsess over later on, focusing instead on the conversation at hand and the point he was trying to make. "That's where you and I differ then," he began, pausing when the other man snorted, his head rocking out the corner of Derek's eye.

"No shit," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. "I don't see you ever being denied anything. I mean." He cut himself off, gesturing with both hands with flailing motions in front of Derek's torso, most likely a reference to his everything.

Which... okay, yeah, Stiles had a point. And Derek was ashamed to admit that he'd used his good looks to his advantage back in New York, flashing a smile, giving a wink, subtle flexing and stretching so his shirt rose up and his abs were on display. He got free passes rather than parking tickets, discounts at the movies, free dessert at diners, and he hadn't felt the slightest hint of guilt about it.

Until then.

He felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat to try and get rid of the awkwardness he was feeling that was threatening to make him squeak like he was suffering through puberty all over again. "I was referring to the part where you actually go after what you want. _That's_ where we're different."

"Oh," Stiles replied, lips staying rounded as his own face flushed, red splotches staining his cheeks and neck. He wrung the back of his neck, wincing, licking his lips. "Okay, so we're different there, but we have shit in common, too." He gestured with an open hand, as though an example was on his upturned palm, his scent growing melancholic with loss.

His mom.

Derek's dad.

They'd both lost a parent, their _werewolf_ parent.

Definitely not something you wanted to have in common with someone, whether out of the selfishness of not wanting to lose a parent or the more empathetic desire for that other person to not have suffered that way.

And at that moment, Derek had an intense thought that he cared more that Stiles had gone through something so emotionally debilitating than his own loss. He'd suffer it a thousand times over again if it meant Stiles would never have to experience it once.

Swallowing hard, he croaked out a low "yeah", facing forward once again.

Silence descended over them once more, both lost in their own heads, their own thoughts. Derek had no idea what Stiles was thinking about, but his own mind was focused on the younger man, wondering if he was okay, wondering how to salvage what was already a roller-coaster of an afternoon.

If it was even salvageable.

"I have a question," Stiles spoke up, breaking Derek out of his thoughts and causing his head to turn to the Omega. "That line about not liking bullies? You _were_ quoting Captain America, right? 'Cause I mean, you don't strike me as the type to quote comic book movies, or even watch them in the first place, given the fact that they're actually _fun_ and given your goth-tastic wardrobe and the fact that you live in the attic, I have a hard time believing that you watch anything but trash-tastic vampire movies or cheesy old school monster movies from before werewolves came out." He drew to a stop, forcing the older man to do the same, turning his body so he was angled toward the Alpha, lips pressed into a hard line, leg bouncing with the need to always be moving in some way.

Derek smirked, amused at the younger man's frustration, folding his arms over his chest in a casual manner as he faced the teen head on. "Well," he began, fighting back a bigger smile. "I guess this is the part where you point out my ice cold skin and tell me you know what I am."

"You did _not_ just reference _Twilight_ ," Stiles groaned, folding his arms over his chest in a more aggressive manner than the older man.

“I' had a girlfriend who forced me to watch it with her,” he stated, cocking an eyebrow. “What's your excuse for knowing what I was referring to?”

“Oh, fuck you,” the Omega replied without any real heat, shoving at Derek's chest.

The Alpha chuckled as he let himself be pushed, stumbling back a step or two, arms falling to his sides. He didn't bother holding the smile back anymore, breaking out into a wide grin, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

The teen did a double-take at him before finally letting his eyes linger on the older man. His lips were parted in thought, eyes narrowed and analytical, but his scent was amused, pleased, even a little proud. "You should smile more often," he declared, small grin of his own forming, hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans. "It's a good look on you. Not that there's really a bad look on you, but still. It's a nice smile. You should do it more."

Derek felt his face fall, brow furrowing as his expression grew serious. "Not a whole lot to smile about these days," he murmured with a shrug, playing it all off, trying not to show how his heart was racing and his wolf was losing its shit at the compliment he'd been paid.

Stiles liked his smile. With his dorky bunny teeth and childish dimples. Fuck.

The younger man's scent bloomed, rich with joy and lust and daring. "Well," he began, head ducked eyes fixed on where his shoes were kicking up leaves as he scuffed his way closer, only stopping when he was toe to toe with Derek.

Derek felt his head spinning, his every inhale pulling in the Omega's citrusy-sweet scent until it was all he could smell. Stiles was so close that a deep breath would brush their chests together, that they'd be touching one another. He could feel the heat coming off the teen, could see the red flush spreading over his cheeks, could see his pupils dilating. His wolf was practically purring at the close proximity and he almost wanted to make the noise himself. Instead, he kept his jaw tense and his mouth clamped shut tight, fingers curled into fists at his sides so he didn't give in to the temptation of grabbing hold of the other man and closing that distance with a hard tug.

His eyes were drawn to movement, flicking down to watch a tongue dart out to wet pink lips. As it was, Stiles' own eyes were already focused on Derek's mouth and the Alpha had a good idea what was running through the teen's mind.

"We could change that," Stiles murmured, finishing his earlier statement, head tilting to the side and leaning forward ever so slightly.

And damn if Derek didn't wanna lean over, too, and give in to what they both clearly wanted.

But it wouldn't be _just_ a kiss.

He wouldn't be able to stop there. And even if he could, it would mean more than just lips pressing together. It would be the start of something more, something bigger, the first step of many on a road to a relationship.

Which Derek had explicitly said he wasn't interested in. More than once.

With his wolf whimpering in his head and his claws digging into his palms, he stepped back, then again, and again, lips pressed into a hard line as though he was hiding them. Because as badly as he wanted to kiss Stiles, he knew it would be a terrible idea.

Or the best thing that would ever happen to him.

Terrifying.

"We should head back," he suggested, voice a harsh whisper, and he cleared his throat to try to rid it of the rasp that was in his words.

Disappointment and hurt overwhelmed Stiles' scent, practically punching Derek in the face with how potent it was. The Alpha felt thoroughly chastened without any words actually being spoken, his wolf whimpering with its head under its paws and its tail between its legs. Not the reaction he'd been going for, obviously. He'd hoped the teen would understand, would remember how Derek had told him he didn't wanna be with anyone, would agree that a kiss was a terrible idea.

But Stiles still didn't say anything about that, about whether or not it was the right thing to engage in a lip-lock or how Derek would feel about it. He just nodded, his own lips pressed into a hard line, muttering out a "yeah" before turning and scuffing back the way they'd come.

Derek stayed put, smearing his hands down his face, muffling his groan. Standing there in the woods, he wondered how many more times he could fuck up before Stiles gave up and completely cut him out of his life.

And how Derek would actually feel about it.


	15. Shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points to total chapter number* *sighs* goddammit...
> 
> Honestly, not my fault it's even longer. Blame Derek and his morose narration and inability to stfu...

Both driveways were still empty of any cars when Stiles pulled into the Stilinski one. Neither of them had said a word since the Omega had attempted to initiate a kiss, but his scent spoke volumes of disappointment and then mortification. Derek kept a tight rein on his own emotions, trying not to convey his own upset over the lip-lock not happening.

And his regret over being the one to prevent it.

Exiting the car, Derek kept his mouth shut, ignoring the way Stiles' eyes were glued to him as he made his way across the front of the Jeep, then the lawn. The engine kept rumbling and as he stepped over the ankle high thorn bushes and made his way down the incline between the yards, Stiles reversed back out and drove off in the opposite direction.

Derek watched it leave, his earlier regret manifesting into a lead ball in his gut that grew heavier by the hour.

Melissa sent him a text him around five saying she was picking up pizza on the way home from work, that Scott was hanging out with friends so it would just be the three of them. He wasn't sure if he was glad for the number, as it meant no unwelcome or surprise guests, but also meant he'd be stuck eating with a woman whose feelings he'd deeply wounded and another who hated his very fucking nature.

Turns out he had nothing to fear. Both women arrived at the same time and Melissa simply handed him an extra-large meat lovers then motioned to the stairs with her head, weak smile in her face. He returned the expression, trying his best to make it genuine, the smile disappearing when he turned and caught sight of Maria.

He left without saying a word to either of them.

That night, he dreamt of Stiles, of running with him through the woods in their wolf forms, chasing one another, playfully nipping at tails and ankles. When he tired of chasing the Omega, he caught him by the scruff of the neck, a wrestling match breaking out that ended with them both shifted back to their human forms, naked and pressed together from chest to thigh as Derek lowered his head and kissed him. Reopening his eyes after their lip-lock found him standing, fully clothed, finding Stiles in the same exact outfit he'd worn earlier that day.

His regret over not kissing Stiles in real life was palpable.

The next day he was restless as hell and knew exactly why. His body woke him up at its usual ass-o'clock time for his daily run and in this instance, he doubled it, not going home until the sun was up. He stood under the shower spray longer than usual, bone weary and muscle tired, but mentally buzzing. His wolf was pacing around his head, scratching at invisible walls of the cage he kept the animal behind most of the time, yowling and whining and generally wreaking havoc on Derek's nerves and sanity.

Because running past Stiles' Jeep and Stiles' house and _Stiles_ countless times wasn't bad enough for his mental health.

Shit, he should've kissed him.

No he shouldn't have.

Maybe he should've let Stiles kiss him.

Nope, also shouldn't have done that.

He'd done the right thing, he knew he had. Maybe he'd said it wrong or handled it in the wrong way, but he'd done the right thing.

His wolf was pissed as hell at him for it, but what the fuck did it know?

His dad's voice sounded in his head, childhood lessons over listening to his wolf, over his wolf knowing best, _trust the instinct_. Fuck, he was disappointing his old man all over the place.

He cut the water off, thinking he'd spent enough time in the shower if he was fucking flashing back to his dad and having existential bullshit thoughts about his goddamn wolf. His legs damn near gave out on him when he stepped out, his knees having locked in place while he'd been standing under the spray. His muscles felt like fire-roasted jello and he had to catch himself on the counter before he completely face-planted on the floor. He sat on the closed toilet seat as he dried off the best he could, really only succeeding in making himself "slightly damp" rather than "dripping wet". After a few more minutes of sitting and convincing himself he was just air-drying, he finally got up, the healing in his legs working enough to let the limbs be useable once more while he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed to the door.

Where a heartbeat was waiting on the other side.

Scott's.

Ah shit.

Okay, not a big deal. He had options. He could just stay locked in the bathroom until Scott took the hint and left.

Except Scott never takes a hint and really, that would just result in their mom banging on the door and demanding Derek get his ass out now.

So, not an option.

Glancing around the room provided no escape routes. The place had a sliver of a window near the ceiling in the shower but it barely opened outwards and Derek was pretty sure its only purpose was ventilation.

So, also not an option.

Fuck, all right, so maybe he'd been wrong about the options thing. Which, sucked, but...

But really he had nothing to worry about. Scott probably just had to take a piss and was waiting for Derek to get out the damn way. It was nothing to do with Derek himself, just the fact that he was impeding the release of his bladder or some shit.

Downside of three people sharing a bathroom: waiting and hoping you can still hold it.

Maria had her own bathroom, but both Derek and Scott had learned at an early age that it wasn't a preferable option over just holding it. They'd sooner give in to stereotypes and mark a tree in the backyard than voluntarily subject themselves to the countless cloying scents hanging about her en suite: anti-wrinkle this, age-defying that, perfumes, lotions, body sprays, home remedies with fuck knew what purpose except to assault a poor wolf's nose, _potpourri_.

If Hell _did_ exist, Derek imagined it smelled a lot like Maria Delgado's bathroom.

Smearing a hand down his face, Derek mentally braced himself to face his brother, adjusting his towel around his waist in a bid for more time, tucking the corner in tighter to prevent any accidental flashings. He briefly wondered if he'd do the same thing were it Stiles on the other side, if he'd just take his chances with how it was, if he'd loosen it, set himself up for a wardrobe malfunction in an archaic way of showing off, of proving his worth as an Alpha. He shook his head to get rid of that thought, water droplets that had been clinging to his hair spraying about the place. Figuring he'd put it off enough, he took a deep breath and sighed it out, then opened the door.

Scott was standing with both hands braced on the doorframe as he leaned forward, head slightly ducked down as he glowered at his older brother. Derek opened his mouth to apologize for taking so long, to make a quip about bladder infections caused by holding it too long, only to catch the scent of his chemosignals. No pain, no annoyance. Irritation, yes, but the same low level dose that seemed par for the course when it came to Scott dealing with him in recent times. But it was hidden beneath the scents of curiosity and determination and Derek had flashbacks to the day before, to opening the door to the sheriff and getting a whiff of those same emotions.

He halfway considered the possibility of this conversation being about Stiles, too, only to dismiss the idea. Scott was keeping Derek at arms length, and with the other arm, holding Stiles away in a stereotypical protective Alpha fashion. It wouldn't make sense for the younger McHale to suddenly wanna talk about the Omega when he'd clearly disapproved of Derek even referring to Stiles.

Then again, not a whole helluva lot about Derek's life lately made sense.

He cocked an eyebrow in silent question, hand holding on to where the end of his towel was tucked in, parting his lips to ask what was up. Only to get cut off by a rush of words tumbling out of Scott's mouth, like the dam had burst and he was unable to hold back the flood.

"Did you really beat up Jackson?" he asked dubiously, with a slight hint of judgment, something only Scott was capable of. He dropped his arms from the doorframe, folding them over his chest as he shuffled on his feet, stopping when they were shoulder length apart, braced for a fight. "Mom said you were suspended and literally everyone at school noticed Jackson wasn't there today. There's rumors going around that you shifted and Stiles said you kicked his ass. Is it true?" He peered up at Derek with a look that was half disapproval, half "say it ain't so, Joe", trepidation and confusion and criticism coloring his scent.

Derek wanted to tell Scott to fuck off, that it was none of his business, to argue and claim innocence, to plead his case and make his brother see why exactly he had done what he did. But he didn't, couldn't. His mind filled with the image of Stiles curled in on himself in Deucalion's office, with the sound of the Omega explaining why he never ran for help with his bullying problem. Derek couldn't tell Scott the reasons he'd gone after Jackson any more than he could tell his mom or Deucalion or anyone else who asked. Because it wasn't his place to tell.

Instead, he shrugged a bare shoulder, shook his head nonchalantly. "Yeah," he replied flatly. "I did."

Scott's eyebrows flew up as his eyes widened, before his face rearranged into a confused frown, lips pulled to one side and making a dimple stand out on his cheek. "Why?" he breathed out, head shaking slightly as he struggled to figure out the explanation on his own.

And really, Derek couldn't blame him for being so fucking lost. As far as Scott knew, his older brother _hated_ his best friend. All he saw was Derek being a dick, acting rude, harsh words and harsher behavior. He'd pinned the younger man against the wall the first time they met and to any outsider, it looked like an Alpha defending his territory and his Pack against an intruder. Scott had no idea Derek was purposely being a prick to Stiles in order to push him away in a lame attempt to protect himself and fight a losing battle against forming any attachments. He had no idea that he'd pinned Stiles against the wall to scent him, to scent-mark him, that the sugary-sweet smell of an Omega had called to his instincts and he was helpless to act upon them. He had no idea that Derek was struggling on a near-daily basis to not give in to developing feelings and just _claim_ Stiles the way his wolf was constantly demanding he do.

And chances were sweet, oblivious, naive Scott had no idea Jackson was the one bullying Stiles and that Derek had taken it upon himself to defend the Omega. Because it would never have occurred to Scott that Derek gave enough of a shit to.

And while the elder Alpha wanted to explain all this to the younger, he knew he couldn't, not without confessing to some shit he'd barely accepted himself, not without spilling secrets Stiles wanted to keep himself.

"Ask Stiles," he stated gruffly, leaving it at that.

Scott just glowered again, adjusting his arms where they were still crossed. "Stiles said to ask you."

Derek rolled his eyes, mentally swearing at the entire world, rubbing at his mouth and jaw before gesturing with an open palm down the hall in the direction of the stairs. "Then go ask Jackson."

A snort and a sneer was the younger brother's initial response, scent bitter with resentment and spiced with anger. "Fuck that," he spat out darkly. "The guy's a giant fuckhead. The less I have to interact with him, the better."

On that, Derek could only agree, nodding once.

Dropping his hand to his side, he shrugged a shoulder again. "Guess you're shit outta luck then," he commented before brushing past his brother, heading to the left and the attic stairs.

"I smell it, too," Scott called after him when he'd made it about halfway there, causing him to stop and turn around. The other Alpha's arms had shifted so they were more wrapped around his torso than folded in defiance and anger, shoulder shrugging as he winced momentarily. His scent had also shifted to a resigned sort of sadness, melancholy pulling down the corner of dark eyes that were so much like their mom's and Maria's, corner of his lips twitching in a sad smile. "On Stiles, what Jackson did. Has done. And if you wolfed out on him for the reasons why I think you did, then I get it."

The small smile stayed this time, the warm scent of approval and gratitude reaching Derek's nose and he honestly had no idea what to do with it. It'd been a long time since those emotions had been aimed his way, since Scott had felt anything towards him other than anger and resentment, and it left him feeling lost, confused. His world was shifting on its axis again and while it wasn't the jarring sensation of a sudden flip like when he was told his dad had died, it was still hard for him to adjust, to figure out which way to go in order to regain his balance and find a way to move forward.

So rather than say anything, he just nodded once, his own lips flashing an appreciative curve.

"You tell Mom?" Scott question, Derek shaking his head. "Why not?" His brow scrunched up in confusion, lips parted, head tilted slightly to the side, looking all the world like a puzzled puppy.

Derek turned his head away, jaw clenched, unable to handle the scrutiny of his younger brother's earnest expression. Over the past couple days, he'd been looked at far too closely far too often and with the way he felt his walls starting to crack and crumble, he felt far too exposed and vulnerable to be okay with it. It made sense when it was Erica with her never-ending quest to form a bond and have him be her Pack's Alpha, made sense when it was Stiles with his desire to get Derek to admit to feelings that were beyond a compatibility of their dynamics. But it made no sense with Scott and his severed relationship with his older brother and his own demand that Derek essentially go far away and fuck himself.

Something was changing, beyond Derek's own personal one-eighty that he was slowly turning, beyond the reluctant—and unintentional—ways he was forming bonds with Stiles and Erica anyway, regardless of what he wanted—or if he even wanted that anymore.

But he couldn't be mopey and melancholic forever, had to move on at some point—other than back east for college. And maybe this talk with Scott was another step forward.

He just wished he knew what fucking direction he was headed in.

Rubbing at his mouth, he turned his head back, green eyes flitting over his younger brother, taking in his green hooded Henley and camo pants that looked a little too much like leggings to be worn by a guy, worn out Vans completing the outfit. It was the first time in months that Derek actually _looked_ at his brother, really took in his appearance, his attitude, the way he held himself. Scott had grown and Derek hadn't even noticed, had been too caught up in his own bullshit. It was as though the past few months had matured him, settled him, and for the first time in a long time, Derek actually had the thought that maybe the two of them could get back what he'd thrown away and ruined.

If he was willing to take that next step.

And he was starting to think he did.

But it wasn't about to be at the expense of Stiles, selling out one guy to form a bond of trust with another.

"Because telling her would betray Stiles," he admitted, shrugging a shoulder to play it off.

Scott slowly nodded, brow still pulled in a confused frown before he bobbed them in dismissal and seesawed his head. "I get that, too," he replied, scratching at a mole near his right eye before loosely putting his hands on his hips. "And I respect that. It's pretty decent of you to do that actually." The corner of his lips curled up momentarily, scent briefly proud, and Derek felt his wolf thump its tail in uncertain happiness. Until Scott sobered up, eyes narrowing, jaw grinding, speaking with a sharp bite to his words. "Probably the first decent thing you've done in a long time."

Derek fought back a wince, murmuring out a weak "I know". Part of him wanted to argue, to point out that he was helping Erica with Calc and that was a pretty decent thing to do, only to realize he'd been coerced into it, that if he'd had a choice, he would've told her to go fuck herself, that her math grades weren't his problem.

He liked to think pushing Stiles away and that his dick behavior to try and kill any feelings on the Omega's end was decent, too, saving the guy heartbreak and from learning firsthand the meaning of the word "crush", but he was wrong on that, too. He'd done it for purely selfish reasons and it was only recently that he'd begun to consider Stiles and saving him from having to wait for a relationship that would never happen.

More nodding from Scott, his fingers clenching on his hips, lips pressed into a hard line. "You're still a prick though," he pointed out, heat to his words but not as burning as it had been lately.

It was then that Derek realized Scott had built up walls of his own, but rather than creating them in a need to keep himself hidden and protected, he'd done it to keep his older brother out. The cold shoulders, the fiery stares, the venomous words, it was Scott's way of dealing with how bad Derek had hurt him, his way of pushing Derek back just as much as he was being pushed away himself, his way of preventing any further damage that Derek may inflict.

Maybe they couldn't go back to how they'd been before.

Not that Derek had thought it would be exactly the same, not after what they'd lost and what they'd been through, but he'd figured they could at least be brotherly again, be friends again.

Now he wasn't so sure.

It was definitely gonna take more than a couple conversations and Derek defending Scott's best friend though, that was for fucking certain.

Because, as Scott had just pointed out, Derek was a prick.

"I know that, too," he admitted, a weak attempt at an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry."

Scott's brows raised as his eyes went wide, lips parting as his jaw went slack. His scent was rich with shock, confusion, a slight hint of disbelief, clearly not having expected any sort of apology from Derek over anything, especially not at the fact that he was a shit excuse for a brother, a Pack-mate, a _person_.

With nothing left to say, Derek nodded once, then turned around and padded in bare feet to the attic stairs, leaving Scott alone in the hallway, completely fucking dumbfounded.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Scott was gone by the time Derek was dressed in a pair of sweats and a worn-in black v-neck, having left the house and heading straight next door. Derek heard the familiar rumble of Stiles' Jeep start up not long after before it pulled away, driving in the opposite direction of the Delgado home.

He found his mom and Maria both in the kitchen, the younger female leaning against the counter in her pink scrubs, cup of coffee clutched in both hands, her mother washing her hands in the sink. He briefly considered turning around and going back to the attic, waiting until they left before making his breakfast, but his stomach growled, demanding food and alerting Melissa to his presence, her head turning to him and an eyebrow arching. Knowing he couldn't slink away now, he shuffled in on still sore calves, giving her a barely there smile as he went straight for the coffee maker, sending praises to a deity he didn't believe in that there was still some left in the carafe.

Maria shut off the water, eying him warily as she dried her hands off on a towel, brown with neon yellow and pink flowers on it, matching her brown tee and peasant skirt, bangles jangling with her movements. He ignored the stares boring into his skull, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring coffee into it, adding his usual sugar, blowing on it before taking a sip. Not that he needed the caffeine or anything, mind still buzzing, wired, wolf beginning its restless pacing again.

Fucking full moons.

Turning around, he leaned back against the counter, mirroring his mom on the opposite side of the room, right ankle crossed over the left. Tension had followed him into the kitchen, stiffening Maria's body and making her movements jerky, narrowing his mom's eyes as she studied him, making his shoulders hunch about his head as he felt like he was three feet tall and in trouble for yelling at Scott for stealing one of his toys or snarling at a schoolmate over the right to go down the slide first. The strained relationships between the three of them was tangible, even to the humans in the room, neither needing his ability to read chemosignals in order to feel how stretched thin they all were, to feel the anger, disappointment, disapproval, worry.

Probably for the best, because Derek felt like he was practically choking on it, the power of those scents overriding that of the coffee he held near his mouth, trying to inhale something that wasn't making his hackles rise and his wolf pace about for reasons other than the moon's cycle. He could always leave, he reasoned. He had coffee, could use that as an excuse for entering the room, claim he just needed a cup of joe then slink off to the attic.

Except his stomach growled again and he knew that wasn't an option.

Shit.

He took a deep gulp of his coffee, burning the roof of his mouth and wincing, before placing the mug on the counter. He avoided eye contact with the two females in the room as he made his way to the middle counter to fill the kettle with hot water and cut the stove on to heat it, then set about grabbing a bowl, the tub of oatmeal, and protein powder. He was gonna need it for the shift later on.

Maria dried her hands longer than necessary, shrewd brown eyes locked on his every movement, muscles still tensed up like she was ready to hightail it out of there the second he showed a hint of his control slipping. He realized then that their every trip to visit her was planned around the full moon, guaranteeing that they'd never be in California when his dad needed to shift or the kids were more rambunctious than usual. Because then she wouldn't see it, wouldn't be exposed to the side of them she believed to be monstrous, and Derek wasn't entirely sure if it'd been a good thing to protect the frail old woman from her fears, or if they'd done more damage by not subjecting the bigot to the truth.

He liked to think that part of the reason why was to protect the werewolf part of the family from any derogatory comments Maria would inevitably make, but he wasn't sure how true that was, given his mom's proclivity for not chastising her own mother when said comments were made.

Whatever. Too late at that point, what's done was done, all that good shit. Only thing he could do at that point was try to survive that night's full moon with as little damage inflicted as possible. Physically, mentally, emotionally...

Shit.

Smearing a hand down his face, he mentally shook it all off, focusing on his current activities rather than ones that were set to take place later on that night. He felt two sets of eyes on him, the air thick with the scents of curiosity and expectation, the earlier disappointment and disapproval still lingering below it.

A throat was cleared from his left, the soft clink of ceramic on Formica as his mom set her mug on the counter, fabric shuffling as she folded her arms over her chest. "You have a plan for tonight?" she asked flatly, words not giving away any concern she may have for her son's well-being or worries over where he'd be, who he'd be there with, what he'd be getting up to.

Every full moon since he'd turned eighteen and had come into his full powers—including the ability to shift into a wolf—he'd gotten an interrogation worthy of every cop show and movie in existence, despite the fact that his time was always spent with his dad. After his passing, Melissa had gotten even more in his business in regards to his shifting plans, her anxiety even stronger, fearful that she'd lose yet another family member.

But now? Now she seemed to be asking just to make conversation and wash away the awkward silence in the room. Because Derek had screwed up, had screwed up their relationship, and she... she just didn't give a shit anymore.

His wolf whimpered and he bit back the urge to do the same.

"If not," Maria spoke up, folding the dish towel, smoothing it against her chest. "I have one."

And now his wolf was rumbling, mind flashing back to when he was in the basement, trying to find bookshelves and stumbling upon something else entirely.

"If it involves chaining me up in the basement, no," he replied sharply, tone brokering no argument, narrowed eyes aimed in her direction.

She simply shrugged, entirely nonplussed by his reaction, looking and smelling completely nonchalant about it as she stepped closer. "Suit yourself," she remarked, not seeming to care either way, draping the dish towel over the handle of the oven door. "But in my opinion, that's probably the best place for you."

He bit back the growl that was forming in his chest, his wolf snarling in his head at her casual discrimination. Letting his animalistic half react to her wasn't gonna do him any favors. If anything, it would prove her right, that he was nothing but a mindless beast who overreacted, who couldn't keep a hold of his humanity and would wolf out at the slightest perceived insult. Besides, he mentally reminded himself, it was his _abuela_. Growling at family members tended to be frowned upon and taken as an insult of sorts.

Not that she seemed to give a fuck about insulting anyone, given the offensive manner in which she spoke about him.

He knew it was rude to refer to his grandmother as a bitch but honestly it was all he could think about at that moment.

His mom let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she let out a tired "Ma" in response.

But Maria had the gall to look innocent as she straightened up from where she'd hung the towel, folding her arms in a defensive manner as her scent shifted to something more irritated, like she was annoyed at her daughter believing there was anything wrong with what she'd just said. "What?" she questioned, dumbfounded, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I may be prejudice against werewolves, but at least I didn't completely cut you off and stop talking to you when you married one, unlike _some_ families we know." She wrapped it up with a point look aimed her daughter's direction.

Derek snapped his head to his mom, noting the way her jaw clenched as she averted her eyes, her own head turning to the side. He caught the scent of hurt and offense and an almost sheepishness to her chemosignals and his mind began racing, trying to figure out what the hell it was that he was missing, what it was Maria had alluded to that had his mom so...

His dad.

The McHale side of the family was practically nonexistent in their lives and any questions about them were ignored and the subject changed. Derek never pushed for more info, figured it was a sore subject and that if he was supposed to know, he would, and now he regretted not finding out the truth while his dad was still alive. Because the way Maria was looking at Melissa, it was like she was hinting about her in-laws, the way they'd cut Andrew out of their lives for marrying outside his species.

No. No way. It had to be something else. His dad had gone out of his way to raise his kids under the mindset that everyone was equal, regardless of species, dynamic, gender identity, sexuality, anything and everything that could differentiate people from one another. No way would someone who so fiercely believed in acceptance of those different to oneself would come from a family who...

Then again...

Maybe that was why. Because he knew what it was like to be cut off for falling in love with someone so different. Because he knew the hurt it could cause, the pain of loss of family and Pack. He didn't want his kids looking down on someone who was different because he had been. He'd been discriminated against by his werewolf-hating mother-in-law, by his own family for having a human for a Mate. He didn't want his pups to suffer like he did, or for them to be hate-mongers like his family.

Derek hoped to god his theory was wrong, but everything was pointing towards that being the truth.

Still, that little spark of hope had him blurting out a "wait, what?", head turning back and forth as he switched his focus between the two females, hoping for an answer, an explanation, something.

Only his words went ignored.

"Not now, Ma. Please," Melissa breathed out, a plea in her words and on her face as she turned tired dark eyes on her mother. It was clearly a conversation that had taken place before, one she was done having, one that was bringing a stress headache judging by the way she rubbed at her forehead. "I really just can't deal with any of this right now."

"I can," Derek argued and feeling like an ass for it. But it was a chance for some answers and possibly the only chance he'd get so he was damn well gonna take advantage, gonna try and get them while he could. "What is she talking about? Who got cut off?"

His mom shook her head as she kept rubbing it, Maria holding her hands up in innocence, lips pinched like she was happy about it but was going along with things anyway.

"Fine. No more discrimination talk, but you know I'm right," she said pointedly before turning to Derek, brown eyes looking him up and down with a slight curl to her lip, disapproval coloring her scent. "The basement is always free should you need it." She gave him a look that said she believed he'd always need it and was better off chained up than out and about doing monstrous things, but thankfully she was respectful of her daughter enough to not say any of it out loud. Instead she put on a saccharine smile and left the room, leaving the scent of her distaste behind.

His mom heaved out a sigh as her own mother made her way upstairs, dropping her hand and grabbing her mug, taking a huge pull of it like it contained something stronger than caffeine and would be able to wash away the past two minutes of her life. Which Derek could totally relate to, his eyes drifting to his bowl of oats and the open container of protein powder, mind busy trying to figure out if he still had enough of an appetite to finish making it, much less eat it.

His stomach answered that for him with a loud gurgle.

"So," Melissa began, staring down at the mug in her hand as she swirled around whatever scant amount of coffee was left in it. "Plan?"

Derek stared at her in bewilderment, eyebrows raised before he gestured to the door Maria had just disappeared through. "Are we seriously not discussing what she just implied?"

She peered up at him, her own brows raised in a pointed manner, brown eyes hard and cold. "Seriously," she informed him in a take-no-shit maternal manner, meaning there was no changing her mind or talking her out of her decision. Her word was final and he had no choice but to suck it up and deal.

He breathed out a long sigh, roughing his hand over his face repeatedly before folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter in a casual manner. "Yeah, I have one," he told her, watching as she stared at him astutely, analytically. "Boyd gave me directions to this place in the Preserve. I'm gonna shift there in the woods."

She nodded slowly. "And Boyd iiisss?" she questioned, stretching the word out.

"The big guy who was here on Thursday with Erica and Isaac the scrawny guy."

More nodding, the earlier awkwardness slowly creeping back, broken up by the kettle whistling next to him. He turned and removed it from the hot ring, switching the stove off and double checking the wonky knob was lined up right.

"They're good for you," Melissa spoke up, staring down at the dregs of her coffee. "Your friends."

"I dunno if I'd call them my friends," he replied on automatic, eyes focused on where he was measuring out the protein powder, adding an extra scoop in the futile hope that it would ease the inevitable pain he was in for the next day.

"From what I've seen, they're more your friends than anyone you hung out with back in Queens." She gave him a pointed look before downing the rest of her coffee, eyes still locked on him over the rim of her mug.

Derek didn't say anything as he screwed the lid back on the protein tub, not entirely sure how he felt about the good point she'd made. And it wasn't like he hadn't already realized that himself, having had that very thought only days prior when Erica had needled him about what was bothering him, not accepting a non-answer. His so-called friends would've accepted his "never mind", would've shrugged in a "whatever, man, suit yourself" fashion before changing the subject to something that, looking back, now seemed completely shallow and asinine when compared to the true depths of real life. And he would've been fine with that, would've gone along with the new topic and would even add in his own shallow and asinine commentary, thinking it was the mark of a true pal to take his mind off it by redirecting the conversation.

But now he knew better.

Now he knew what a deep conversation was, thanks to Stiles. Now he knew how a _real_ friend acted when one was upset, thanks to Erica. Now he knew that his life back in New York was as superficial as the trophies that had lined his shelves or the spray-tans Kate had gotten or the highlights his teammate Theo had put in his hair.

Erica clearly put a great deal of effort into her appearance with the corsets and the dark eyeshadow and the bright red lipstick. And Stiles was cautious of how he was looked at, refusing to report any bullying out of her he'd be seen as weak and pathetic. But there was a depth to both of them that went beyond any image—whether physical or perceived—and it made Derek take a hard look at himself, his life, both before his dad's death and after. The differences were shocking and he hated the fact that it took such a huge life-changing event—two, really, if he included the move to California—to make him see the truth about his life and his friends.

If that term could even be used for his social group back in Queens.

And as much as he'd been fighting it, fang and claw, he knew that the word could be used for Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. And, if he let it, maybe even Stiles.

Or at least maybe one day in the future it would pertain to Stiles.

"Like I said," his mom spoke up when he'd remained silent for too long. "They're good for you. Thought maybe they'd help turn you around. Guess maybe I was wrong." With that, she pushed away from the counter, crossing the room, the scent of sadness and disappointment following her.

Derek swallowed hard, a lump in his throat choking him, his wolf whimpering mournfully in his head. He'd honestly thought he _had_ been turning shit around—or at least trying to—and he knew that if she was aware of the reasons behind his altercation with Whittemore, she'd see for herself that he was no longer the selfish prick hellbent in destroying every relationship he had by being the biggest asshole possible.

But he couldn't do that to Stiles.

Not that Derek thought his mom would go around telling everyone about how the sheriff's kid was such a pathetic Omega weakling that he needed a big strong Alpha to literally fight his battles for him. And he knew that if he asked, she'd even refrain from telling Stilinski himself—albeit with a heaping of comments over what a terrible idea that was and it would be better for both Stiles and Derek to just come clean and tell the man—but...

But Stiles didn't want anyone to know and chances were that would include parents who were capable of keeping secrets. And despite all of Stiles' insistences that there was more between the two of them than just their dynamics, Derek knew that it was his Alpha nature that was giving in to what the Omega wanted.

He focused on his mom, watching as she rinsed her mug out in the sink before leaving it with all the other dirty dishes left for him to wash, thinking back to outside the school when she'd said there was no point in talking to him, to the other day when she said she was just done with him.

And she looked it, too, as she turned to face him, shoulders slumped, hand rubbing at her forehead before smoothing over her pulled back hair. Her eyes were closed as she let out a tired sigh and he felt it like a punch in the gut, his features pulling into a sad frown as his wolf let out cries of distress.

"I," he began, cutting himself off and shutting his mouth with a click when she held up a hand to get him to do just that. Probably for the best. He had no clue where he was going with that thought.

I'm sorry. I messed up. I'm trying to be better. I wish I could explain. I want us to go back to how we were in New York.

I miss you.

I need you.

I hurt and I have no idea how to fix everything I broke but I want to so very fucking much.

Tears welled in his eyes and it was only the grit of his jaw and the bite of his pride that held them back, prevented him from breaking down in front of her like a kid with a skinned knee.

No magical kisses were gonna heal these wounds and he longed for the days when something as small as road rash from a missed bicycle trick were his biggest problems.

His mom took a deep breath, eyes closed as she steadied herself, scent a jumbled mess Derek couldn't figure out. "I meant what I said about being done and giving up," she stated flatly, with a sense of finality it was like a judge handing down her sentence. Her eyes opened, dark orbs locking on his green ones as she crossed her arms. "Stay safe tonight." She nodded once, left the room, left the house with a definitive click of the latch.

Like a gavel banging.

Guilty as charged.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek spent the day in the attic. He listened as Maria puttered about, doing this chore or that tidying, as she weeded her garden and fed her flowers, all the while singing along to her staticy Spanish-language radio station. Part of him wanted to put on his headphones and listen to his own music, but he couldn't get Erica's voice out of his head, referring to his favorite songs as "screaming man-pain". Took the enjoyment out of it.

So instead, he tried his best to block out his abuela and her warbled crooning, focusing instead on finishing up projects and homework, taking breaks for random sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups whenever he felt too restless and his attention span waned. He made a couple three-meat triple-decker sandwiches for lunch, needing the protein and carbs for later, then spent an hour or so researching colleges back in New York, only to give up when he realized he had no idea what he wanted to do for a career, much less what major to pick.

He completely ignored his wolf and its whining over the idea of going to school back east and any and all possibilities of what that could mean.

More calisthenics, more trying to get through _Heart of Darkness_ , more feeling increasingly antsy as the day wore on. His skin was tingling, nail beds and gums itching, mind buzzing, and he was tempted to just go ahead and shift solely to get some relief. But the last thing he wanted was for Maria to stumble upon him in his wolf form and use it as some sort of proof that he was incapable of controlling himself or his animal side, or for his mom to completely misconstrue the situation and think he did it on purpose to scare her just because he was a dick like that.

The same way they all misconstrued the night he'd met Stiles.

Thoughts of the Omega had him drifting back to the window, pushing the curtain aside to peek through and into Stiles' bedroom, despite the fact that the guy wasn't there, evidenced by the still missing Jeep. Wasn't the first time Derek had sought out a glimpse of the teen that day, his wolf slowly taking over his body and his thought process, instincts driving him to check on the younger man for unknown reasons...

Okay, maybe not so unknown.

Derek just fucking _cared_ about him, was worried that something was gonna happen to him during the full moon, was constantly seeking reassurance that the bullying victim was safe and sound. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was just because Stiles had been picked on and instincts were telling Derek to protect the Omega, he knew that wasn't the full truth. His caring went beyond that, to a point that frankly scared him with the depths of it, to a point where he didn't wanna think about it too much or he'd wind up howling outside the guy's window all night like some pathetic loser out of a werewolf rom-com.

He realized suddenly that he was glad he wasn't gonna be totally alone when he shifted later on, a thought he never would've believed he'd have. But frankly, he needed someone to watch over him, to keep his ass in check, to make sure he didn't turn around and hightail it back to town to track Stiles down and...

And fuck knew what he'd do, really.

Considering his wolf's reactions around Stiles, it honestly wouldn't surprise Derek if the animal started humping the guy's leg.

Not a good idea considering _sheriff's kid_ and _underaged_ and _mixed signals_.

But he couldn't keep his thoughts from running away from him, fantasies of running under the full moon together, shifting back to their naked human forms so Derek could claim him out in the wild like their primitive ancestors, sinking his teeth into the Omega's throat to mark him as taken as he knotted him over and over again.

Not that it was ever gonna happen, consider the fact that Derek had told the guy "no relationships", not to mention that Stiles was underage and therefore couldn't be knotted, much less full shift into a wolf. Chances were he'd be spending his night partying with other werewolves, getting rid of excess energy from the moon by dancing to obnoxious music and drinking illegally in much the same way Derek had on a few occasions back in Queens.

He thought of the time Kate's parents had gone out of town to visit family and she'd thrown a rager at her place, only to spend the entire time up in her room with Derek as they rutted against one another, as he ate her out for hours, as she blew him repeatedly. He'd never come so much in his entire life—until he'd started having heats anyway—and he knew it was from the full moon playing with baser instincts and driving them to procreate—and causing him to pop his knot and get nagged at about it.

Suddenly he was inundated with images of Stiles rolling around in bed with some other Alpha, Lydia riding his face as his Omega instincts drove him to please her, Danny burying his face between Stiles' cheeks as he ate him out like a starved man. And all the while, Stiles was keening, crying, moaning, begging for more, eyes flashing Omega gold and his tiny fangs on display, hole gaping and leaking profusely.

If curtains could be slammed, Derek was sure that's what would've happened as he threw the flap closed once more, stalking away from the window. A low growl rumbled up from his chest, hands shoved through his h air, claws pricking at his scalp as he thought of his Omega—of _Stiles_ with someone else. Fuck, he'd never been the jealous type before, not even when Kate made yet another empty threat about "finding an Alpha who can get the job done, since you seem to be having trouble with it". If anything, his ego would be bruised and his Alpha nature would kick in, spurned on to prove himself the dominant one. But not once had his claws popped out or his fangs slid down at just the thought of the object of his affections getting pleasure from someone else.

And he wasn't even with Stiles.

Yet another reason to keep his distance, Derek figured. Less homicidal thoughts, less chance of winding up jail. He'd gotten suspended for over a week for wolfing out and beating that Whittemore douche solely for bullying Stiles. He knew without a doubt he'd be worse should anyone touch what his wolf believed to be theirs in a more intimate fashion.

Shit, he needed to stop thinking about Stiles. It was becoming unhealthy, obsessive. He blamed it on the full moon fucking with his head and his instincts, but he knew it was more than that. He just refused to acknowledge it, the way he was refusing to acknowledge a lotta shit going through his head.

Instead, he snatched up his phone from the desk, typing up a message to his mom to let her know he was headed out, feeling like it was the right thing to do. He didn't get a response, which didn't surprise him. He figured she was driving home and couldn't check her phone, or was caught up in a huge emergency and had to stay at work, or was just flat out ignoring him due to his recent insolence.

Understandable.

Rather than dwell on it, he shoved his feet into some sneakers, grabbed his keys, then headed down the stairs. It was still relatively early, the sun barely halfway down the sky, but he figured he could grab some burgers and drive around town for a while. Anything to distract himself from the Omega next door and what he may or may not get up to later on that night.

And what the Alpha wanted to do to him instead.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Boyd inherited his size from his dad. It was obvious the second Derek parked in the spot he and Stiles had been in only the day before, his headlights illuminating a large dark-skinned male with short curly hair, a goatee, and glasses, standing with a petite female with a shaved head. Derek automatically found Boyd's lips and eyes on her, his nose on the man, and knew these were his parents.

Stepping out of the car, he found Boyd himself several yards away, leaning against a thick tree trunk with his hands shoved in the pockets of his basketball shorts, torso bare and displaying an impressive set of muscles that seemed more Alpha-like than typically found on a Beta. While his parents gave the new arrival shrewd looks and whispered between themselves, he gave a head bob of acknowledgment to the Alpha, Derek returning the gesture with a few curious glances to his folks.

Derek locked the Camaro up before making his way over to his classmate, leaves and twigs crunching under his sneakers. Boyd was already barefoot, as were his parents, and Derek felt strangely overdressed in his sweats and tee, despite going without undergarments. But when compared to Boyd's shirtlessness, his mom's sarong, and the wrap his dad had around his waist, Derek easily stood out as being heavily covered.

He changed all that when he reached the youngest Beta—because they were all Betas, he caught enough of Mr and Mrs Boyd's scents enough to know that and that they were entirely skeptical and judgmental regarding his presence—toeing off his sneakers as he began to strip. Had to take his clothes off to shift anyway. Might as well go ahead and undress then.

"Decided to grace us with your presence, huh?" Boyd questioned, slight hint of amusement in his voice and his scent, lips twisted ever so slightly as he stared down at Derek's feet.

The Alpha shrugged, nudging his sneakers closer to the base of the redwood. "Well, it was either this or let my abuela chain me up in her basement."

"I'm sure she's disappointed you didn't go for option B."

"She's not the first female I've disappointed here lately," he pointed out, fisting his shirt behind his head. "Or the first _person_ really." He gave another awkward shrug, ignoring his whimpering wolf as he pulled his tee up and over.

Boyd let out a noncommittal hum, scratching his jaw, barely there whiskers from a day of not shaving rasping ever so slightly. "I get what that's like. Trust me," he replied thickly, voice an octave deeper than usual, scent melancholic and disappointed.

Free of his shirt, Derek opened his mouth to speak, to question how it was that he'd disappointed Boyd, to object if this was yet another not so subtle attempt at trying to recruit him as a Pack Alpha, only to shut up. Because the other man's eyes were focused on his parents, both of them facing away, huddled together, occasionally peeking over their shoulders at the two younger wolves. Derek glanced back and forth between the family unit, noting a disconnect between them, a lack of familial love and care that had always been present for the McHales during full moons, human mom included.

It was then that he noticed the tension in Boyd's shoulders, in the way he held himself. He was faking casual, leaning against the tree, hands in his pockets, but his fingers were curled into such tight fists Derek could see how taut his forearms were, could see a grit in his jaw, could see his shoulders hunched up.

Fuck. No wonder he was in a Pack with Isaac and Erica. None of them came from good homes, from good families, and they gravitated towards one another, their wolves recognizing similar broken souls.

That being said, it was no wonder they gravitated towards Derek, too.

He dropped his shirt on top of his sneakers, his keys and silenced phone added to the pile, then moved so he was standing next to Boyd, facing the same direction as him. In a move of solidarity, he bumped into him with his shoulder, noting how the round of his shoulder hit the Beta's bicep. He wanted to chalk it up to Boyd standing on a root or him being in a dip, but he knew that was just his ego talking.

The larger man's lips twisted up in a wry grin, small laugh gusting out his nose. But his scent evened out and the tension left his frame, his wolf more than likely soothed by the contact from an Alpha. And while Derek wanted to say that it didn't mean anything, that if anything, it was a guy reaching out to his buddy...

He couldn't.

And not just because he didn't wanna spoil this minute amount of peace they found.

"C'mon," Derek suggested, knocking into Boyd's arm once again before nodding his head in the direction of the woods. "Let's get outta here."

The moon wasn't at its peak just yet and his wolf was still—mostly—bearable, but he knew both he and Boyd would be better off with some distance between them and the older Boyds. Besides, what better way than to get rid of some tension by shifting into their wolf forms and running shit out? Not to mention they could both do with the mindlessness and emotionlessness of being an animal for a little while.

Boyd nodded, exhaling a long breath through his lips, the rest of the tension seeming to leave with the air. Both of them dropped trou, adding the clothes to the pile Derek had already made. They stepped away from the tree and each other and Derek focused, rolling his shoulders and his head, relaxing into the shift and letting it happen rather than fighting it. Soon he was on all-fours and furry, shaking all over to loosen the tension and smooth his fur out.

Derek's wolf form was about half his normal height, large and strong due to his Alpha nature. His fur was jet black all over, minus a tuft of white fur under his chin—a lot like what his dad once had around his muzzle—eyes glowing a steady red. The scenery around him was bright, everything clear and in sharp contrast, the woods lit up like it was noon rather than nine at night. Glancing around, he found Boyd only a foot or so away, his fur a deep dark brown, eyes Beta blue. He was still big for his dynamic, but for once, was smaller than Derek, something that strangely pleased the older man.

He chuffed at the other wolf before taking off into the woods, Boyd following, the two trotting before speeding up until they were running.

They booked it through the forest with no real destination, enjoying the scenery, the freedom, the chance to spread their legs and shake out their fur. It was an escape they both needed, giving over to instincts, their wolves not caring about families or obligations or human drama. It just wanted to feel the wind against its muzzle, to sniff the ground, to mark that tree, to chase a mouse that had the misfortune of trying to get a late night snack. The two ran side by side, a lot like in gym class, both satisfied with the silence and the companionship that came with with the exercise, no words necessary.

And with each mile, Derek felt himself get lighter and lighter

After an hour or two, they reached a cliff overlooking Beacon Hills, the town nothing more than rivers of lights amongst the darkness, crossing and turning and twisting in a pattern that didn't make sense at that distance. It was a lot different than the park Derek ran in back in New York and the view was enough to almost make it...beautiful.

Make it feel like home.

Or at least _a_ home.

Sitting on his haunches, Derek lifted his head and howled, loud and long, the sound echoing off the ravine below. Boyd replied from right beside him, while four answering howls came from the town itself. Derek had to fight to stay put rather than run off in the direction of one particular cry, instead letting his tail thump against the ground right behind him.


	16. Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any formatting errors. This thing somehow got fucked up during an email transfer from iPad to laptop. So if you see any funky symbols or letters outta place, lemme know. I'm just too tired to keep reading it over and over and over...

Derek and Boyd headed back to the cars when the sky started lightening, shifting and redressing. The aches were settling in but Derek knew they'd get worse as the day wore on. At that moment, it was manageable.

He invited Boyd out for breakfast, the Beta accepting then grabbing a shirt from the back of his parents' SUV before the two headed off to the diner. Derek thought it was strange the guy didn't leave a note or wait to tell them, and when he caught him texting in the passenger seat, the tired smile on his face told him he wasn't messaging his folks.

But he didn't say anything, didn't bring it up as they sat in the diner, indulging in their After Moon Special full of protein and carbs to help them recover. He hated people prying into his shit so he wasn't about to do it to someone else. Instead they made small talk over mountains of eggs, bacon, sausages, and steak, if they even spoke at all, Boyd responding to whatever Erica said when his phone buzzed against the chipped Formica table.

Derek had sent a text of his own to his mom when he'd first sat down, but like the night before, it went unanswered.

At least it showed that it had been read.

The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon when they left the diner, the sky an amalgam of pinks and peaches, bleeding into purples and blues, and Derek was struck once again by the beauty of small-town California. No giant skyscrapers cut into the watercolor sky, no blocks of gray or black obstructing the view, just bushy trees and the slate rooftops of houses they passed as he drove through the deserted streets of suburbia. There was no hustle and bustle of big city traffic, no one trying to beat the crowd to wherever, just early birds catching worms, squirrels getting a jump on nuts or seeds out of feeders that were designed to keep them out.

It was peaceful and Derek didn't realize until then that it was what he needed after a long night of overstimulation.

He dropped Boyd off at Erica's, sitting curbside as he watched the Beta go through a gate at the side of the house, a tall wooden fence encapsulating the backyard. It was only when the large man had disappeared that he pulled away and headed back to the Delgado-McHale house, parking in his usual spot on the side of the lawn.

The sheriff was exiting his own vehicle in his own driveway, powder blue Jeep noticeably missing, but the elder Stilinski didn't seem too concerned about that, allowing Derek to relax his own worry about Stiles' whereabouts. Instead he focused on John as the human shut his car door, the haggard look on his face, the tired smile he gave as he weakly waved.

Night shifts were apparently a bitch. Especially when a full moon was involved.

"Mornin'," the sheriff called to him sleepily, Derek giving him a wave and a head nod in reply. "You doing okay?"

Derek paused halfway to the front door, now even with the other man as he stood in his own driveway, staring across the lawn and a half that separated them. "I'm alive," he replied flatly, voice rough from the all-nighter and lack of use, giving a halfhearted shrug as backup.

John's face pulled into what could only be a sympathetic grimace, wrinkles standing out starkly even at that distance, bottom teeth on display. "You and I both know there's a big difference between being alive and being okay."

Fair point, Derek mentally admitted, turning away to stare at the front door, unable to hold eye contact.

"Seriously though," the sheriff continued, voice low with gravity yet still audible to the younger man. "You all right, son?"

He winced at the term, body tensing all over, shoulders hunching up. It was like a blow to the solar plexus, the air knocked out of him, and his lungs froze inside his too tight chest, unable to recover from the hit. His wolf curled up on itself, tail and paws over its face, pathetic whimpers escaping it and he felt like doing the same thing in bed.

Minus the tail, of course.

The older man seemed to realize what'd happened though, judging by the "aw, hell" he murmured before smearing a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, kid," he apologized, gesturing to Derek with an open palm in a much more subdued fashion than his actual son seemed capable of. "That term is somewhat a force of habit. I didn't mean to upset ya."

Derek didn't say anything at first, simply stared straight ahead, vaguely aware that he was nodding. Because what the hell was he supposed to say.

"It's okay"? No, it wasn't.

"You should be sorry"? Rude.

"Yeah, well, you did upset me"? Also rude.

Finally he settled on his usual habit of avoiding and running away, pointing to the front door. "I'm gonna go crash," he muttered, voice still rough, this time for the added reason of too many negative emotions and not enough strength to handle them.

The sheriff nodded, lips pulled into a tight lipped smile that was a combination of sympathetic and apologetic. "Okay," he replied lowly. "Take care of yourself, Derek."

He nodded once in reply, briefly flashing a hint of a smile before his features morphed into a scowl, suddenly irrationally mad. Why the fuck did he care if the werewolf took care of himself? What the hell was he to Stilinski? They were neighbors, barely anything more than that. Derek was the son of John's old high school sweetheart. John was the father of the guy Derek was trying not to fall for.

Although really, he had to question exactly how much he was trying in recent times. Avoided kiss notwithstanding.

Wanting the conversation over, Derek trekked the rest of the way to the door, quietly unlocking it then slipping inside the house. Two steady heartbeats thrummed away upstairs, the rhythm not faltering as he grabbed a bottle of water, as he showered, as he schlepped his way upstairs to the attic.

He gave in to the urge to peek out his curtain, finding Stiles' room dark and deserted, and he reminded himself--and his wolf--that the Omega must've been fine or the sheriff wouldn't have seemed so easygoing during their conversation.

Refusing to think anymore and just too fucking tired to deal with life, he collapsed face first on top of the mattress and promptly passed out.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The day after a full moon feels a lot like how Derek imagined it would be after a night full of drinking. Well, except less nausea and _way_ more pain.

Totally expected really, when one's bones literally all break apart and rearrange into a new shape, his skin pierced millions of times over by hair that ordinarily wasn't there, not to mention the copious physical exertion of running around all night.

Yeah. Lots of pain.

He let out a huge groan as he rolled onto his back, arm flopping over his eyes as though he could shield himself from the world that way, block anything and everything out. In all honesty, he wouldn't mind just passing out again, sleeping away the day. A quick auditory check showed he was home alone, Maria and his mom both out, Scott presumably never having come home, so there was no need for him to get up and interact with anyone. And with it being a Sunday, he had nowhere to go. No job, no school, no obligations. Keeping his eyes shut and drifting back off sounded completely doable and highly fucking tempting.

Only his brain wasn't quite on board with that plan, kicking into overdrive with a thousand obsessive thoughts.

Those responding howls he'd heard the night before.

How it'd felt to run with Boyd.

Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

He had a gut feeling that the Omega had been one of those returned howls, that his wolf had wanted to go charging off to find him, and he was honestly surprised he hadn't done just that. He'd heard stories of folks in their wolf forms tracking down certain people, of waking up post-shift in someone else's bed because their wolf had wanted to be with them.

Granted that was generally when Mates were involved, and while Derek could no longer deny he was attracted to Stiles and possibly even had feelings that went beyond tolerating his existence, they definitely weren't Mates.

His wolf snorted as best it could and he pointedly ignored it. Stupid animal didn't know what the fuck it was talking about.

Realizing he'd gotten as much sleep as he was going to, he hauled himself up, groaning at the full body aches, at the way his bones felt like they had razors shoved in them and his muscles all felt sliced up and his skin felt like it'd been flayed and burned. He felt wrong all over, sore, stumbling to his drawers on shaky legs that were barely working and he'd forgotten how to use. His dad had told him it would get easier with time, that the more he shifted, the more he'd get used to it and the less it would hurt the next day.

A hollow ache in the center of his chest had him grimacing and he knew that sudden pain wasn't due to the post-shift sensations he'd been experiencing.

He wondered if his dad's advice would also pertain to the loss of his Alpha, that over time he'd get used to it and it would hurt less.

He thought of Stiles and how he'd lost his mom but seemed to function like a normal person. Derek knew it was an entirely different situation, that Stiles had been younger and as far as Derek knew, his mom hadn't been an Alpha or even the Head of Household, but it was still similar in a lot of ways. If Stiles could get to a point where he was okay, maybe Derek could, too.

That being said, it'd been how long since Stiles had lost his mom? Derek still had a long way to go.

Shoving all that aside, he slipped on a pair of mesh basketball shorts and a sleeveless tee, hissing at the feeling of clothing on his bare skin. He suddenly envied humans, with their lack of shifting and their ability to take pain killers and erase all their aches. Must've been nice.

A check of his phone showed no messages and he slipped it into an oversized pocket before shuffling his way to the stairs and down them. Steps were his enemies, knees protesting, thigh muscles not wanting to work, and he grimaced as he descended, mentally swearing at everything.

He paused when he reached the main floor, holding onto the bannister as he took a break, eyes shut tight as he grimaced more. Everything fucking sucked, he fucking hated everything, and the entire world could kiss his fucking ass for making him suffer this way.

Irrational, but fuck it. He was hurting. He was allowed to be angry and irrational.

The doorbell rang and he cringed, hissing at how fucking loud it was to his still sensitive hearing before glaring at the front door. Why the fuck did it always ring when he was home alone? People needed to work on their goddamn timing, leave him the hell alone, show up when other people were around to answer the door for him.

“Der?” came a familiar voice on the other side of the wood and he rolled his eyes skyward, mentally swearing more at his shitty luck, all the while his wolf started wagging its tail happily. “I know you're in there, man. I can hear you. Open the door.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, smearing a hand down his face before pushing away from the bannister and shuffling over.

“Didn't figure you for a bottom,” Stiles responded, smirk evident in his voice.

The Alpha paused, hand freezing halfway down where he'd been dropping it, and he stared wide-eyed at the door. Was he fucking serious?

No. It was Stiles. From what Derek understood, he rarely took shit seriously.

“Oh my god, I was joking, dumbass,” the younger man cleared up, exasperated. “Just open the door and let me in.”

He ambled forward a step or two before stopping again, eyebrow cocking in curiosity. “You know Scott's not here, right?”

The Omega muttered out a few creative swears and insults, huffing as a rhythmic tapping started up, most likely his leg shaking and toes hitting the porch. “One day you'll realize that people show up at this place to see your grumpy ass, too.”

Erica's cheeky grin flashed in Derek's mind and he shook it away, rolling his eyes at Stiles' words. “Why do you wanna see me?”

A frustrated groan tinged with a growl was the initial response, followed by an annoyed “just open the fucking door, Derek. I've been out here for two hours and I'm pretty sure the neighbors think I'm as pathetic as the stereotypes surrounding my dynamic say I am.”

What in the fuck?

As outlandish as Stiles' statement was, Derek believed it. Because the guy was stubborn and annoying and waiting outside someone's home for a prolonged period of time totally went along with those winning personality traits.

Another eye roll then he shuffled to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open, wincing against the sunlight shining through.

Stiles stood there beaming brighter than the giant ball in the sky, dressed in the comfiest sweatpants Derek had ever seen, a white tee that was at least one size too big, and a giant black and gray striped hoodie that looked like it would be baggy on Derek. His smile didn't falter as he was met with a confused scowl, simply hitched the strap of a backpack up his shoulder and nodded his head once in greeting.

“You gonna move so I can come in?”

Derek's frown deepened before he grew too tired to keep it up, the expression falling away before he rubbed at his eyes. “Why are you here?”

The grin fell then, Stiles' scent shifting to something awkward and unsure, one hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other wringing the back of his neck. “Figured you'd need a hand as you recuperate,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder, acting like it was no big deal.

Folding his arms, Derek stared at him skeptically, puzzled frown back, not entirely sure of the other man's reasons for wanting to help out. He knew it was paranoia making him feel that way, but all he could think about was his so-called friends back in New York and their ulterior motives whenever doing anything nice or decent toward him. And while he was well-aware that not everyone was like that, it was hard to stop himself from believing it.

“Why?”

Stiles shrugged again, this time with both shoulders. “I owe you after all that shit with Jackson and you not selling me out.”

His eyes narrowed, still skeptical, maybe even more so. Because while that wasn't a lie, it also didn't feel like the entire truth. Something told Derek there was more to it than that, something he didn't wanna look at too closely.

So instead, he stepped to the side and opened the door further, wordlessly inviting the teen in. A small smile was on Stiles' face, head ducked almost bashfully as he made his way past. His scent was lit up with the warmth of happiness, that citrusy-sweet aroma getting stronger, making Derek's head spin and he barely stopped the growl from rumbling up his throat. As it was, his cock gave an interested twitch and his wolf drooled in his head and he felt like doing the same damn thing.

Closing the door, he subtly wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand to make sure he actually hadn't.

Okay, he needed to think of something else, needed to switch mental tracks, before his wolf decided the night before wasn't long enough to be in control and took over once again.

“Gotta admit,” Derek began, making sure the latch clicked on the doorknob. “Still surprised you wanna lend me a hand. Considering how our last interaction ended.” He turned around to find Stiles dropping his bookbag over the back of the couch, wincing, the happiness in his scent being replaced by mortification as he ducked his head to hide the red splotches forming on his cheeks. Derek had to fight the sudden urge to wrap the Omega up in his arms, to kiss every single patch of blush, to assure him that he had nothing to be embarrassed or apologetic about, that it was all on Derek.

Instead, he balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his pockets, planting his feet so he wouldn't move a fucking inch.

“Yeeeeeah, about that,” Stiles began, scratching at a temple, still wincing, still hiding his face.

“Don't,” Derek stopped him, hand held up before he slipped it back in his pocket. “It's okay, just. Don't go there.”

The teen turned to him then. “It's not okay though, I know it's not.” He gestured to Derek with an open palm. “You said you weren't interested and I pushed you anyway and tried to make a move.” Hand dropped, he started fiddling with his fingers in front of his stomach, leg shaking. “It's fucked up. And I'm sorry.”

Derek frowned, wondering how in the hell he'd been the one to make shit awkward between them but Stiles was apologizing. Stiles was always apologizing, always making up for whatever perceived wrongs he'd done when it was usually Derek's fault. Or at the very least, Derek was partially at fault.

“I'm sorry, too.”

Stiles shrugged, arms wrapping around his torso now as he pressed his lips into a hard line, scent downshifting and making Derek's wolf whimper. “I'm used to rejection,” he played it off with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, acting like it was all a joke and he wasn't bothered by it but...

But he was.

It was just like how John had said Stiles would joke about being bullied, pushing away concern, covering up hurt with quips.

Derek realized in that moment he wasn't the only one with a shield around himself.

While his was made of anger and anti-social behavior, Stiles' was comprised of self-deprecation and sarcasm. While his was for purely selfish reasons, Stiles' was to protect those around him from worrying as much as it was to protect himself from further hurt. But no matter the reasons or the emotions forged into hard steel and leather, they were both causing more harm than preventing it, keeping people out with a false sense of self-preservation.

In Derek's case, the armor was crumbling, banged up, weaknesses found and exploited until it was barely more than a disc-sized piece of tin.

Stiles though. Stiles was holding on to it like a lifeline, hiding behind it, using it as a weapon to hurt others before they hurt him.

Derek wanted through, wanted to see the guy behind it, wanted Stiles without any armor or shields or hard-edged quips used as swords that he swung without any real target in mind.

But to do that, he had to get rid of his own protective forces.

Wringing the back of his neck, he dug his nails into his skin, not sure if he was ready for all that.

Yet.

“Look,” Stiles started, scratching his forehead with a finger, wearing a slight grimace. “Can we just drop it, forget Friday afternoon happened at all? The conversation? The—” He trailed off, gesturing to Derek—or, presumably, Derek's mouth, referring to the rejected kiss—then swept his hand across his body as though wiping an invisible table clean. “All of it.”

The Alpha kept wringing the back of his neck, grimacing as he thought it over. Part of him wanted to do just that, thought it was easiest, to just pretend it never happened and move on.

But...

But there was no fucking way he'd ever be able to actually forget it. The heat coming off Stiles' body, the tingle of anticipation that zipped up his spine, the way he could practically taste Stiles' breath they were so close, his scent buzzing in his head. He couldn't forget any of that.

He _didn't want to_ forget any of that.

Okay, so he wouldn't forget, but he could pretend for a little while, save both of them the awkwardness or embarrassment of that reminder hanging over them for...however long Stiles would be around that day.

“All right,” he replied, finding it easier to just agree and be done with it. He shuffled over, trying to make his way to the kitchen on sore legs comprised of aching muscles and tender bones, fighting the grimace that was desperate to form on his face. Deep down he knew that had Stiles not been there, he wouldn't try to hide it, would wear the expression without shame.

But the Alpha in him felt the need to prove himself strong in front of the viable Omega, to show he was capable of dealing with pain, to make himself appear powerful and able to take care of the other man. It was vanity, pure and simple, stupid stereotypical bullshit behavior that not once had he ever engaged in, nor had he ever imagined himself engaging in it.

And yet...

And yet there Stiles was, watching his every move, and he was overwhelmed by the need to be a man—to put it in human terms—and act like nothing was bothering him.

He was Alpha. He was strong. He make good Mate.

Fuckin' eh.

Stiles frowned, scent shifting to concern and confusion, and he stepped to the side, directly in Derek's path and forcing the older man to stop. His hands raised as though to physically stop the Alpha, only to let them drop without making contact, fingers curling into fists then opening back up. “Where ya goin'?”

Derek's eyes were transfixed by the long fingers drumming against Stiles' thigh, remembering how they'd curled over the round of his shoulder, imagined them doing it again but with less clothing in the way, the Omega hanging on for dear life as he was pounded into, as he was knotted, as Derek ground the inflated gland against his prostate and made him cry out.

A low whimper came from in front of him and he lifted his eyes to see teeth sink into a plump bottom lip, to see brown eyes flash gold—the color of an immature wolf, and of an Omega. That sugary-sweet scent got stronger, added spice note of arousal that had his cock twitching and a growl rumbling up from his chest that he didn't quite stop in time. Which, in turn, kicked Stiles' scent up another notch, his eyes going gold and staying that way, his head tilting to the side in an act of submission.

Derek locked on to that pale skin, those chocolate moles scattered along the long column of his throat, and his gums started tingling, fangs threatening to descend. Fuck, what he wouldn't give to take Stiles up on his wordless offer, to mark that flesh up with hickeys, with bites, with a Claiming Bite, showing the world he was taken and who he belonged to. The color bled from his vision, wolf still too close to the surface, and given the general fatigue he was feeling after his all-nighter, he was barely able to rein in his inner-animal. One more act of submission, one of burst of scent, and Derek was done for. He'd give in to what his wolf was so desperate for, taking Stiles down right then and there, marking and claiming and knotting and...

Bad idea. Terrible fucking idea. Never gonna happen idea.

He cut the growls off, buried his face in his hands as he groaned in frustration, hating how he constantly felt torn between what his wolf wanted and what the human half of him felt was best. He felt even more ripped apart than he had during or after the shift, what few stitches he'd sloppily fixed himself up with after his dad's death now pulled out, his edges all frayed.

Unable to be put back together again.

At least not the same way.

But for all his mental hashing and rehashing and the constant back and forth about whether or not he wanted to change...he just wasn't ready. Well, not ready for Stiles, not ready for what Stiles would want or need.

Derek was Humpty Dumpty, broken and shattered and even if those proverbial king's horses and men could put him back together, he would still be covered in sharp edges that would cut Stiles open, flay him the way Derek felt he was. For all of Stiles' defensive behaviors and the shield made of sarcasm and self-deprecation, he was still in better shape than Derek, his own shattered pieces put back together with the glue of time—and possibly even therapy. Being with Derek would just rip his own stitches open and do more harm than good.

He shoved a hand through his hair, expelling a long breath, wondering when in the hell he'd become so noble and selfless, wondering if he really was even being selfless or just being a chickenshit, protecting himself under the guise of protecting someone else.

“Sorry,” he said roughly, sighing as he dropped his hand, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. For not being good enough. For letting his thoughts head down an X-rated path--again. For having said thoughts affect Stiles and coax reactions out of him beyond his control. For all of it and more.

Stiles shrugged and shook his hand, waved a hand in dismissal, eyes blinking rapidly as the gold faded from them and his scent leveled out. “It's fine, it's cool, it's fine,” he rambled, eyes squeezed shut and the fingers of one hand rubbing at them. “I just. The other day, when you—”

“I thought we weren't gonna talk about it,” Derek interrupted, eyes closing and voice a rough whisper, almost pleading for that to be the truth. His body tensed up, waiting for the blow that was about to come, creating a sharp reminder of all his aches and pains. His wolf was whining low in its throat, head down, ears back, knowing something bad was about to come, and the human part of him had that same sense of dread, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

The Omega slumped, arms thrown in the air in exasperation before they dangled loosely from his shoulders. “I lied,” he admitted—or covered up his change of mind, more likely—straightening up and licking his lips before continuing. “I just wanna know one thing.”

Derek winced, glancing to the side, arms folding over his chest in a protective manner before they grew too heavy, before his muscles were too tired to even do that. Hell, just standing there was taking a lot out of him and he eyed the couch longingly, wanting to just crash on it and take a five hour nap.

“Der?”

He turned back to the younger man, to the reason why he was still standing and couldn't nap, letting out a “hmm?” to show he was listening, nodding to tell him to go ahead and ask.

Not that he thought Stiles would hold back if Derek told him not to say anything. In his experience, the teen went ahead and did what he wanted, consequences and other people's wants be damned.

“When you said you were denying yourself something you wanted,” he began, leg shaking, fingers tangling in front of his chest, brow furrowed and lids blinking rapidly. “You, uh. You were talking—” He trailed off, smelling uncertain, embarrassed, like he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought in case he was wrong, unable to handle the consequences of it.

The Alpha knew he could lie, could change the subject, could make up some bullshit about how he was denying himself a Pack with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd or denying himself a family with Melissa and Scott—and kind of Maria—denying himself a chance to regain the life he'd had before—albeit a different one in a different place with different people, but in general the same.

But fuck, he was just tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally. And underneath that embarrassment and uncertainty and self-consciousness, that spark of hope lingered in Stiles' scent and Derek was weak to resist it even at full strength.

“You,” he answered, voice rough, clearing his throat. “I was talking about you. Us. Both.”

Lips pressed together tightly, Stiles nodded, eyes distant as he focused on a side-table beneath the staircase railing, lost in thought. But his scent gave away everything he was thinking, that hope sparking up further, the warmth of joy then the salt of upset, the three repeating, cycling, a never-ending pattern.

“You don't want a relationship,” Stiles murmured, not expecting a response, seeming more like he was working things out by voicing them out loud. “Not right now anyway. Not a _romantic_ one.” His whiskey eyes flipped up to meet Derek's green ones, sparkling, shiny, flicking back and forth as he switched focus on each of Derek's orbs. “But a friendship maybe?”

His eyes widened, brows shooting up with them, before fatigue pulled them all down again. But the shock remained, lips parting and hanging open, struggling to think of a reaction beyond the utter fucking disbelief that had his brain flatlining. He honestly didn't think he was the kind of guy anyone would wanna be friends with, Erica's comments over him being Grumpy Cat coming to mind, Melissa's own surprise over him having guests who actually wanted to spend time with him soon following. Yet the Pack kept hanging around him, yet Stiles was standing in the living room offering friendship, and Derek just...he couldn't fucking wrap his head around any of it.

Couldn't believe he was seriously considering saying “yes”.

Could totally believe it wouldn't ever feel like enough.

“I don't,” he started then stalled, watching as the corner of Stiles' eyes turned down and his scent downshifted, settling on the salt of upset. “I can't be _just_ friends with you,” he admitted, shrugging helplessly, wringing the back of his neck. “I don't think I can really be friends with anyone to be honest, but I. I definitely can't be just that with you. I'm sorry.”

Stiles repeated his earlier pressed-lips, head-nod action, fingers drumming on a clenched fist held on his chest. “Do you think maybe we could try anyway? At least for today? I.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, grimacing for a brief moment. “I dunno if it's an Omega thing or just a feelings thing, but my wolf literally won't quit freaking out.” He huffed, flinging a hand in Derek's direction before he began pacing back and forth in the small two foot space between the stairs and the back of the couch. “All I can think about is making sure you're okay and recovering all right and was someone taking care of you, did you need help, were you hobbling around like an old guy.” He paused his pacing, glancing at the Alpha, smirk tugging up the corner of his lips. “The last one's true apparently.”

Derek flipped him off and Stiles breathed out a laugh before sobering up once more, scratching at a sideburn.

“My dad used to take care of my mom,” he admitted lowly, shoving both hands in the pockets of his giant hoodie. “The day after a full moon? She'd be sore and tired and just wanted to laze about. He always made sure to have that day off so he could stay home and help her out, make her food, tuck her in, read to her and help her relax.”

“And you, what? Wanted to continue to tradition?” Derek asked, skeptically, feeling his heart sink a little that Stiles wasn't really there for him, but to relive memories of his mom, of his parents together and happy.

“No. I wanted to take care of my—” he cut himself off, turning away, licking his lips then pressing them together.

The Alpha waited for the rest of the statement, for Stiles to admit what neither of them were brave enough to say, to even admit to themselves. His wolf thumped its tail in his head with a level of uncertainty and hope, feeding off the human's half and what he wanted the other man to say.

What he wished he could say himself.

Even if it was just in his own head.

Stiles winced slightly then met Derek's eyes, his wide and pleading, brow furrowed to match. “You feel it, too,” he said lowly, gently, taking a step towards the older man, hand outstretched to gesture at him. “I'm not saying we're exactly what my parents were, but we're something, even if you're not ready for us to be anything.”

Derek swallowed hard under the weight of the teen's words, under his stare, under the pleading way he was asking the Alpha to understand and admit it. And goddamn if Stiles hadn't hit the nail on the head.

And goddamn if Derek's wolf wasn't arguing with the part about how they weren't like Stiles' parents.

He mentally reminded himself that he knew nothing about the elder Stilinskis, beyond the dad being the sheriff and the mom being a wolf—and deceased—and therefore couldn't judge either way, couldn't make any sort of comparison. But he _could_ , however, comment on the current discussion.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, clearing his throat.

Cocking his head to the side, Stiles' brow furrowed and his lips pursed in question. “Yeah? Toooo what?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “All of it.”

The younger male smiled, eyes lit up, practically glowing as he bit his lip. “Soooo, I can hang out? Help you out?”

Derek peeked behind him at the kitchen, his original destination, thinking it was further away than the fifteen feet it actually was, then turned to the couch, checking out the mere three feet it would take to round it and flop down. Fuck, help sounded really fucking good at that moment.

But it was more than that, more than aching bones and sore muscles and tired everything, and he knew it. It was the fact that he _wanted_ Stiles to stick around, wanted to spend time with him. It didn't matter if the guy was helping him with his post-shift blarghs, just that the guy was there.

He felt pathetic and lame.

And he really didn't fucking care.

Because Stiles was _there_ , around him, voluntarily, and wanted to be there as much as Derek wanted him there.

He nodded, focusing on the Omega, tired smile on his face. “Yeah. I'd like that.”

Stiles' smile shifted into a mischievous smirk, mirth sparkling in his eyes as he reached out and playfully shoved at the older man's shoulder. “Your lazy ass just wanted a slave for the day so you could slob it up on the couch.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes, rounding the end of the sofa before cautiously lowering himself down onto it, depositing his cell on the table in the way down. "You caught me,” he deadpanned, slouching, legs spread eagle and head laying on the back of the couch.

“Knew it.” Stiles took his hoodie off, laying it on the opposite arm of the settee from where Derek was slumped, his backpack right beside it, before leaning on the back of it. “You eat yet?”

The Alpha groaned at the idea of food, eyes shutting tight, fingers of one hand rubbing at them while his free arm draped over his midsection. “Chewing hurts,” he grumbled, dropping his hand from his face. “Stomach can't handle food.”

“You gotta eat _something_ though.”

“Protein shake. Usually have one, helps with the aches and muscle recovery. Was on my way to make one when this annoying li'l shit knocked at my door.” He peered up at said annoying li'l shit who was smirking proudly and giving him a wink.

“You're welcome,” he quipped, drumming the couch with his hands before pushing himself up. “One protein shake comin' up!” Two more pats on the furniture and he made his way to the kitchen, humming to himself.

Derek let his eyes drift closed again, sinking further into the couch, lulled by the sounds of Stiles puttering about in the kitchen. Cabinet door opening then shutting, blender being pulled out on the counter, fridge door, freezer door, a drawer, another cabinet, then another. Apparently the kid couldn't find what he needed, a thought that put a smile on his face.

“So where exactly does it hurt?” Stiles called through, unscrewing the cap of the protein tub. “Do you need an ice pack or anything?”

He snorted humorlessly, wincing at the way it caused his body to curl up and twinge sore muscles. “Hurts everywhere to be honest,” he admitted, pride be damned, no longer caring about the tough guy Alpha bullshit facade from earlier.

“Something to look forward to, huh?” the younger man remarked over the slosh of milk being poured. “Guess you'll just hafta return the favor and take care of me.”

His mind was inundated with images of just that, lips curling up despite himself. He could perfectly picture tucking the Omega into his bed, covering him with his blankets and his scent. He could perfectly picture making shakes and fetching drinks, hand-feeding the younger man. He could perfectly picture holding him close, leeching away his pain, taking his aches so he didn't have to suffer.

It could happen, it could be his reality in the not too distant future. If he let it.

He murmured out a sleepy “okay” as he shuffled about to get comfortable, eyes closing once more, drifting off to the sound of the blender whirring at full speed and a rabbiting heartbeat thrumming along.

Before he knew it, a large plastic cup was being pressed into his hand and he reopened his eyes to find Stiles standing over him, nudging the cup once more. He wrapped his fingers around it, muttering a “thanks” and feeling his heart skip a beat at the smile he got in return. Unable to maintain eye contact\lest his body betray him with some other embarrassing reaction\he focused on what was in the cup, taking in the thick chocolate shake with...

Darker brown chunks?

He flipped his gaze back to Stiles, eyebrow cocked in question, waiting for the Omega to put his backpack on the ground and sit down in its place before speaking. “What's in this?”

“Chocolate protein powder, milk, and mint chocolate chip ice cream,” he replied in a duh manner, shifting so he was sitting with one leg folded on the couch, body tucked in the corner of it.

The older man frowned at his drink before raising it to his nose and scenting it, catching a whiff of mint underneath the chocolate. “I usually just mix it with water and ice.”

“Gross,” Stiles uttered, making a face then shuddering. “True milkshakes have ice cream. My mom used to make mine just like that.” He pointed to the cup still in Derek's hand. “Same kind of ice cream and everything. Chocolate sauce instead of protein powder though.”

All right, so now Derek _had_ to drink it, or risk offending the guy's dead mom. With a mental shrug, he brought the cup to his lips, tilted it back, and took a couple swallows.

And promptly moaned out in satisfaction. Goddamn, that was tasty. Thick enough to still be drinkable, the chips big enough to catch before he choked on one, the chocolate taste rich on his tongue and leaving the sharp bite of mint behind. It was better than any of the crap he got from various fast food restaurants or diners, and while part of him thought that maybe his opinion was a little biased since Stiles had made this one, he honestly didn't care.

It was fucking good.

Stiles' scent spiked, warm notes of pride and joy, an underlying hint of arousal from the groan Derek had let out. But fuck him, it was good. And had it not been for the risk of brain freeze, he would've chugged the whole thing right then and there. So instead, he only took a few swallows before pulling the cup away, feeling the frozen liquid coating his throat and his esophagus as it made its way down to his stomach, chilling him from the inside out in a good way.

Having something in his stomach helped ease some of his discomfort and he turned his head to glance at the bag on the floor, pointing to it with his cup. “Plannin' on doing your homework?”

“Hmm?” Stiles questioned, eyebrows raised, before following the pointing finger. “Oh. Nah, finished already.” Bending over, he unzipped it and reached inside, removing a thick hardcover book. “Like I said, my dad used to read to my mom and this was one of her faves. She used to read it to me, too.” Holding it up, he let Derek see the cover, the light blue background with the cartoon depictions of the characters, a flying bed in the back with grandparents holding on for dear life, a young boy shaking hands with a man in a purple suit wearing a large top hat that reminded Derek of Abraham Lincoln caricatures. His eyes drifted over to the title in all white, author's name in blue right below it, reading it out loud.

“ _The Complete Adventures of Charlie and Mr Willy Wonka_ by Roald Dahl.” He tilted his head to the side, staring at it curiously. “Didn't know there was more than one adventure.”

“Yup,” Stiles stated, putting the book on his lap and flipping through it, wistful smile on his face. “Everyone knows _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ , but no one knows about _Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator_. It's all about his life after he and his family move in to Wonka's factory and he starts learning about making chocolate and how to take care of the Oompa Loompas.” He made it to the front, closing the book and running a hand over it reverently. “It was my mom's favorite.”

A small smile formed on Derek's face, thinking back to when he was a kid, his parents taking turns tucking him in and reading to him. Picture books at first, then chaptered ones for kids, _Charlotte's Web_ , _Stuart Little_ , _Ralph Mouse_ , and Derek's personal fave:

“ _Fantastic Mr Fox_ ,” he said, pausing to chew the chocolate chips in his mouth. “It got to the point where my mom refused to read it to me anymore, said she was getting sick of it. But I always managed to talk my dad into it with a few pitiful whines.” He smiled sadly into his cup, watching as he swirled the remains of his milkshake around. “I think she was probably also sick of how I'd also play _Fantastic Mr Fox_ the next day, crawl into the kitchen on my stomach and pretend I was sneaking into Boggis' farm to steal a chicken or Bean's farm to steal cider, when really I was swiping cookies or extra juice boxes and she'd yell at me about too much sugar.” A humorless laugh blew out his nose and he brought his cup to his lips once more, longing for the days when his mom was pissed about him being hyper and possibly ruining his appetite before dinner.

The Omega nodded, eyes still fixed on his book, thumbing the frayed edge of the paper cover used to protect it. “Well, this day got depressing as fuck real fast,” he commented, rubbing at the top of his head and mussing up his already unruly hair.

Derek snorted, the sound echoing in the cup. “You did imply that we had it in common.”

Stiles seesawed his head, conceding the point, Derek draining the rest of his shake before putting the cup on the coffee table. “I can read something else,” he offered, rubbing a finger under his nose. “Or not read at all. You guys got Netflix? If not, I brought my laptop.”

The older man shook his head as he got settled once more, adjusting his tee around his lower back then lolling his head over so he was looking at Stiles. Looking at Stiles' eyes, his mouth, those fucking lips he wanted to feel against his, the long column of his neck where his larynx resided, voice deeper than one would expect to hear when looking at him. “Read,” he murmured, swallowing. “Please.”

Small smile on his face and warm happy notes in his scent, Stiles nodded, replying with a soft “all right”. He turned so he was facing forward, toeing his shoes off before putting his feet on the coffee table, then opened the book up, flipping past pages of credits and publication notes and other bullshit. He opened his mouth to read, book propped up so it was angled slightly towards Derek, only the Alpha cut him off before he uttered a syllable.

Because the Alpha's wolf was still too close to the surface and his mind was somewhat stuck in the past and he was unable to resist the urge that had overcome him.

Surging forward, he laid across the couch, settling with his head on Stiles' lap, face turned in towards his stomach, causing the younger man to freeze all over and let out a prolonged confused “uhhhhh?”

He peeked up into puzzled whiskey eyes, Stiles holding his arms up so he wasn't touching the other man, book hardly being held in one hand it was so heavy. “Is this okay?” he questioned, tensing up as well, ready to move.

Stiles nodded rapidly, excitedly, heart beating faster than usual. But his scent wasn't uncomfortable or upset, just unsure and surprised, which, understandable, given Derek didn't actually ask for permission. “It's cool. Get comfy, big guy.” An easygoing smile formed on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners, sparkles in the dark orbs, and Derek made good on the offer as Stiles slumped down on the couch.

He wrapped an arm around the teen's middle, scooted over so his nose was close to his taut stomach without impeding his breathing, inhaling the sugary-sweetness of the Omega, along with the warm contentment and happiness he was giving off. His eyes drifted closed as Stiles laid the book on his upper arm, pointing out how he wouldn't be able to see the pics that way, but Derek didn't care. He...

He was holding Stiles.

He had his head in Stiles' lap.

He had Stiles' scent in his nose and body heat against his and his wolf was more content and at peace that he could ever remember it being.

Something settled inside of him and he let out a deep sigh, feeling the tension of the past couple months leaving with it, and suddenly, life didn't seem so bad.

A hand settled on his head, long fingers sliding through his hair, blunt chewed on nails scratching at his scalp and he was pretty sure he was purring. A low chuckle left Stiles and he cleared his throat before he made attempt number two at reading.

“ _Chapter One: Here Comes Charlie_ ,” he began, voice a soothing rumble in Derek's ear, covering him better than an old quilt and warming him better than a hot chocolate. “ _These two very old people are the father and mother of Mr. Bucket. Their names are Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine._ ”

Derek was out before the rest of the Bucket family had been introduced.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek woke up a couple hours later, feeling more rested than he had previously—and also feeling a wet streak falling from the left side of his mouth.

Jesus fuck.

He cautiously lifted his head, moving slow so as to not call attention to himself or wake up the Omega that had apparently passed out some time after he had. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced down to find a wet patch on the lap of Stiles' sweats, right where his head had been, and immediately he felt his ears burn in embarrassment. Big tough Alpha drooling like a fucking baby all over someone's crotch. Yeah, totally the image he wanted to give.

He stifled a groan, his wolf covering its face with its paws and he totally couldn't blame the animal. If he could, he'd do the same damn thing.

Hell, he was tempted to go wolf and do that very thing.

Terrible idea, he decided, lifting his torso up just as cautiously as he had his head, glancing at Stiles as he moved. The Omega let out a snort that was less than delicate, his own mouth hanging wide open, head having fallen back against the couch, and swiped at his face with a limp hand. He shuffled a bit, head lolling to the side, but otherwise seemed to stay asleep.

Meaning Derek's drool spot was safe from discovery for a little while longer.

With careful movements, Derek managed to get off the couch without waking Stiles, stretching out stiff muscles and joints that had gotten cramped from laying for so long. He spotted _The Complete Adventures of Charlie and Mr Willy Wonka_ on the floor and he picked it up, checking to make sure no pages had gotten bent or torn. Thankful it was damage free, he closed the book and put it on the coffee table then grabbed his empty cup and shuffled his way around the couch to the kitchen.

The trek sapped a good majority of what little energy his power nap had given him and he sank down in the chair situated in front of the fridge, putting the cup then his elbow on the table, face in his hand. It'll get easier one day, he mentally assured himself, rubbing at his thigh with his free hand and working up the strength--and the motivation--to stand and set about making another shake.

Any second.

Aaaany second...

Fuck.

His ears pricked at the rustle of fabric in the next room, wolf lifting its head in interest. He tuned in to hear Stiles' heartbeat change tempo, picking up its pace as he slowly regained consciousness and returned to the waking world. Derek tried to keep his own heart even, trying not to let it be known that he was stupidly pleased Stiles was waking up, that soon the Omega would go looking for him, would find him, would join him.

He tried telling himself he was just happy he didn't have to get up and make his own shake.

He knew it was a lie.

He was just stoked to be around Stiles again.

Because snuggling up to him and napping, that sugar-sweet scent in his nose with every inhale, his heart rate and voice in his ear, that apparently wasn't enough for Derek. He was too fucking greedy when it came to Stiles.

Jesus, what a hypocrite. Kept pushing everyone away, but wanted Stiles close, closer, always, couldn't get enough of the guy.

Maybe he _was_ changing. Maybe the walls really were crumbling and his frozen heart was being thawed, all thanks to the heat of the Omega he'd just been wrapped around.

Shit.

Because it would no longer be _just_ Stiles working his way in with his persistence and stubborn refusal to take "fuck off" as an answer. It would be Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, too. He'd have actual _friends_. And if he got friends, next he'd be working shit out with his family, apologizing to Melissa, to Scott, telling Maria what she could do with her prejudices.

And the second he had them back in his life, the second he had friends, he'd have something to lose.

Cupping his chin, he stared straight ahead at a row of rectangular tins, vision going wavy and blurring the seventies-tastic orange and brown daisies painted on them. Losing his dad had numbed him out completely and he was only just beginning to feel like he could maybe break free of that frozen state two months later. Losing someone else? He wasn't sure he could recover from that.

A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, the action failing to dislodge it. He was being a pussy, a broken record, a pain in everyone's ass—including his own—but...

But in all honesty, he kinda didn't give a fuck.

Yet...

Yet he was starting to give a fuck, about his repetitive bullshit, about other people, and he was honestly starting to wonder if the latter would really be so bad. Yes, it meant he would have something—some _ones_ to lose in a worse case scenario situation but it was just that: a worst case scenario. Just because he'd lost his dad didn't mean he'd lose _everyone_.

Okay, an argument could be made there that his dad had lost his family, but from what little amount of info Derek had gathered about the McHale half of his DNA, the younger Alpha figured it was a voluntary move and that it had been after he'd met Melissa, so he wasn't entirely alone.

Derek hadn't been entirely alone after losing his dad either.

His loneliness had been self-imposed though and he got a strange sense of "like father like son" smacking him in the face. Fuck, he'd heard that phrase so many times growing up, whenever he met someone his dad knew: a coworker, an old college buddy, a friend he played pick-up basketball with on the weekends, Derek's old lacrosse coach in Queens that his dad had played with in high school. Usually the comparison was welcomed, Derek always grinning and puffing his chest out in pride, his dad the ideal man to look up to, Alpha wolf or otherwise. In this instance, however, Derek wasn't entirely sure how good or healthy the similarity was, if he was right to feel shitty over a commonality of voluntarily cutting oneself off from one's family.

Smearing his hand down his face, he wondered how his dad would feel about his eldest son following in those footsteps, only to realize...he wouldn't be all that proud. Derek didn't know the reasons for his dad's ostracizing himself from his family and Pack, but he had a feeling it was nothing to do with death and possibly something to do with what his abuela had hinted at the day before. His dad always did things for good reasons, after thinking it through, and—the elder McHale admitted—with a little bit of gut and wolfen instinct.

It wasn't instinct or a good thought process that had caused Derek to build walls up between himself and his remaining family members though; just selfishness and fear.

" _Life is nothing but a series of risks, kid,_ " his dad's voice sounded in his ear, advice given to Derek on more than one occasion, whether it was fear over the first day of school, joining the lacrosse team, coming out, asking someone to the dance. " _It gets boring otherwise. Sometimes you gotta stop staring at the water worrying about how cold it is, if the waves are too rough, are you gonna get tired before you reach the other side,_ if _there's an other side. Just dive in, make the adjustments, and swim like hell. You might get lost, you might get knocked around, you might get hurt, but life isn't about sitting on the shoreline watching the others have fun swimming and horsing around. It's about risks and getting your feet wet. So dive in, kid._ "

A strangled groan came from the living room, bones popping as Stiles stretched, and Derek's heart pounded even harder. He knew without a doubt that his dad would be giving him a meaningful smirk at that, a wink, mouthing the words "dive in" before coming up with a lame excuse to leave and give them space. And he'd be right. Derek needed to stop being a pussy, stop worrying about worst case scenarios, stop letting it hold him back and build those walls. He needed to embrace the cracks, help them further demolish those bricks of terror and selfishness, tear down his armor.

Death was an inevitability, it happened to everyone, some sooner rather than later. He shouldn't let it hold him back and stop him from living.

Stop him from diving in.

And yet...

No.

No "but"s, no "yet"s, no excuses. He'd done enough damage over the past two months, not only stopping himself from living fully but also fucking up the lives of those around him. It was time to stop, time to get back on track, time to make his dad proud once more.

Stiles shuffled though, scratching at his scalp, tawny hair sticking in a million different directions, flattened on the back of his head from the couch. Sleepy eyes turned to Derek on the table, corner of his mouth rising in a smirk, brown orbs lighting in amusement as he dropped his hand to point at his lap.

And the obvious dark wet spot on his sweats.

Shit.

"Did you drool on me?" Stiles questioned, amused more than anything, lips fighting back a bigger grin and potentially a laugh.

Derek felt the tip of his ears go red and he forced his brow to pull into a scowl. "No," he grumbled, turning away when Stiles' smirk grew.

The Omega breathed out a laugh as he made his way over, scent lighting up in humor and joy. "It's alright, big guy. I'm sure I've done worse in my sleep," he assured, ruffling his hand through Derek's own bed head and making the Alpha freeze at the contact.

Because only his parents ever mussed up his head in an affectionate manner like that.

Because the action was so carefree, almost absent-minded in the way it was given, a gesture that almost seemed second-natured.

Because it had honestly felt good and Derek couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched in a manner that had not only resulted in a positive reaction within himself, but had been so damned welcome.

Alright, maybe those two instances when he'd pinned Stiles in place and scentmarked him but that had been all instinctual and Derek'd had no clue he was doing it until it was happening. Not to mention it was him doing it to someone else. But this? This was a touch given, an innocent one with no deeper meaning, no instinctual need to mark, no x-rated intent behind it. Just a simple ruffle of the hair that had his scalp tingling in pleasure and his wolf lolling its tongue out its head, and the human part of him wanting to practically purr.

He held back on the noise though, figuring he'd embarrassed himself enough with the wet patch on Stiles' pants.

Stiles seemed completely unaware of what he'd done or the reaction he'd gotten from it, hand slipping free of black locks and wrapping around the forgotten cup on the table. "Refill?" he offered, already making his way to the counter next to the fridge, putting the cup in front of the blender.

The Alpha stared for a moment, still dazed, mind caught up in wondering if Stiles had left his scent behind and if so, would Derek actually bother with a shower later or try to keep it there as long as possible. Eventually he caught up, clearing his throat and letting out a rough "please", rubbing at his sore thighs once more.

With a point of the finger, a wink, and a click of the tongue, Stiles set to work, grabbing the jar of the blender and carrying it to the freezer. Opening the door, he scooped the ice out the box by hand rather than letting it rumble through the dispenser on the door, obviously aware of how sensitive Derek's hearing still was.

The older man frowned as he watched the entire process, as he thought back over the entire day since Stiles had shown uninvited and unannounced. He didn't have to take care of Derek, didn't have to stay or even show at all. The Alpha wouldn't have blamed him or spare more than a pitiful passing thought over how he would've liked Stiles to be there but didn't deserve it.

Yet there the Omega was, making him another protein shake to help him recover, after having read to him, let the Alpha snuggle on his lap and drool into his pants without a single complaint.

He thought back on everything he knew about Stiles, the time he'd volunteered to help Derek find a bookshelf despite not being wanted, helping carry in their belongings when the moving truck arrive and bringing a forgotten box of Derek's up to the attic without having been told to, vague memories of Scott saying how Stiles was helping him cope with everything.

Meanwhile Derek's old friends back in New York would've come up with every excuse possible to get out of helping move shit, would've told him to go fuck himself and storm off had he shown any hint of attitude, had offered superficial condolences over the death of Derek's dad. None of them had ever volunteered to help anyone else out, for any reason, much less aid a grumpy Alpha who made a habit of shunning them.

But Stiles did, was, and probably always would.

The cup was placed on the table next to him and he gave a grateful smile and a low "thanks", Stiles smiling proudly and scent bursting with happiness over having done good, before he retreated back to the counter and poured a shake of his own, enough of the thick brown liquid left in the blender for one, if not two, more cup-fuls. Derek watched the Omega lean back, arm loosely folded over his stomach as he took a deep gulp, chocolate mustache left behind when he pulled the cup away.

Derek took a drink of his own, the frothy liquid cold as it slid down his throat and into his chest, the afterbite of mint sharp on his tongue, the shake just as tasty as before as he chewed on chocolate chunks. For a moment, he let his mind wander, allowed himself to imagine that it could be like this every month, Derek achy and tired from the shift, Stiles taking care of him, until he hit eighteen and would full-shift with him and they could take care of each other.

But he didn't deserve it. Didn't even deserve _this_.

With another big gulp, he put his cup on the table, chewing up chocolate and swallowing, tongue darting out to chase the flavor off his top lip before he spoke. "Why are you doing this, helping me?" he asked lowly, voice still rough from sleep. He kept his head tilted down, frowning at the linoleum beneath Stiles' feet but still able to make out the Omega turning his head to him with an eyebrow cocked, cup still lifted up to his lips as he paused drinking. "And don't say it's payback for that Jackson shit, because really that's me paying you back for all the shit I've done to you since I moved here." He finally lifted his head, taking in the confusion on the younger man's face and in his scent. "I don't get why you're being nice to me when I don't deserve it."

Stiles slowly lowered his cup, gulping loudly as he swallowed what had been in his mouth while placing the drink to the side. He cleaned off his top lip as a frown formed on his face and Derek had a moment of regret over asking if it caused the Omega to look so upset. But he needed to know the real reasons behind it, needed to know it was more than just an obligation he felt or a way of saying thanks.

The younger man wrapped his arms around himself and scowled at the floor in front of himself. "Thought you already knew," he said weakly, sniffing and shrugging a shoulder. "I mean, we talked about it earlier."

Derek bobbed his eyebrows and titled his head in concession, memories of that conversation coming back, remembering how Stiles had said there were feelings there, settling for friends and being okay with holding off on anything more. Even if it meant nothing more would happen.

"I guess I just don't understand how you could possibly stand to be around me or why you like me or anything like that," he admitted, scratching at his stumbled jaw. "Other than it being a result of--"

"I swear to god if you make another reference to our biology, I will claw your dick off and make a shake out of it," Stiles threatened, eyes shut tight as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Alpha shut his mouth with an audible click.

A sigh came from the younger man as he reopened his eyes and refilled his arms, shrugging and shaking his head. "Biology is a small part of the attraction, yeah, sure, I'll admit that," he began, scratching at his forehead with a finger then shrugging again, not looking Derek's way. "But it's not all of it. I." He paused, sighed again, ducked his head and stared at the floor. His scent grew embarrassed, red splotches forming on his cheek, and Derek grew still, his every sense zeroed in on the other guy. "I kinda had a crush on you before I met you, as weird as that sounds. Like, I saw your pics on Scott's Facebook page and thought you were hot, yeah, but. But it was the stories, man, the things Scott told me about you, the way you were always there for him, how he'd brag about you and whatever game you just played, family stuff or bro stuff, whatever." He smiled briefly before growing embarrassed again and he cleared his throat. "I dunno, it's probably stupid, but I guess part of me feels like that guy from before is still in there and I'm hoping he'll come back. Kinda dumb huh?" He finally turned to Derek, self-deprecating wince on his face.

The Alpha stared dumbfounded, part of him hating the mortified scent and expression the younger man was wearing. But the other part of him was... well, honestly, he didn't know what it was feeling or thinking. The tips of his ears were burning in embarrassment again, strangely complimented by the admission and having a hard time to accept it. And there was also a sense of guilt, a huge weight settling in his chest with the knowledge that he wasn't what Stiles had come to know and expect from the stories he'd heard. He was a bigger letdown than he'd originally thought and while he was struck by the urge to wolf out and hide from the shame of it, he was also equally motivated to do something about it.

Maybe.

Fuck, it sounded so easy in his head but he knew it was gonna be hard as hell actually doing it and he wasn't sure he _could_ do it, could change, go back to the way he used to be. Or at least close to what he used to be.

He roughed his hand over his face a few times before laying his forearm flat on the round table, hand dangling off the side, fingers playing with those on his right hand. "I'm not that guy anymore," he stated lowly, wincing at the way his wolf was whining and hiding its head beneath its paws.

"I know," Stiles replied just as quiet, sniffing once. "You don't go through something like that and come out the other side exactly the same."

"Right but I turned into the world's biggest douche."

"Eh." The Omega shrugged a shoulder and gave him a smirk. "Met bigger."

Derek just rolled his eyes. "Point I'm tryna make," he redirected the convo, attempting once again to get it all out there. "Is that I don't get why you're into me now. Most other people would've given up and decided to have nothing to do with me."

The smirk stayed, Stiles bobbing his eyebrows. "I'm not most people."

The Alpha licked his lips rather than responding, because the guy had a point. And on top of that, the fact that Stiles wasn't like most people was part of his appeal and why Derek had been drawn to him in the first place, and why he couldn't stay away.

"And like I said, I'm hoping that guy maybe a little bit comes back." Stiles gave another shrug, scratching at a sideburn then gesturing at Derek. "Or you at least become less of a douche."

A snort left the older man, head rocking as it hung loosely from his shoulders. "I want to," he confessed quietly. "I didn't before cause I didn't really give a fuck. But I do now." He stared at his hands as his fingers tangled together, as he began picking at a hangnail on his left thumb. "I know it won't happen overnight and it'll take a lotta work and probably groveling but. But I wanna do it. Not sure how but I'll figure it out I guess."

"Admitting it is the first step," Stiles quipped, saluting him with his cup before taking a big gulp of milkshake then chewing the chocolate chunks.

Derek rolled his eyes, the green orbs landing on his own cup and his half-melted shake. His broken record thoughts returned to how selfless Stiles was being helping him out despite rude behavior aimed his way, to how Stiles was willing to back off and try for a friendship because it was what Derek wanted, to how Stiles was willing to wait until Derek was ready for more.

Not that it would matter in Derek's eyes. Even if he ever did reach that point where he felt as though a relationship was doable, he didn't think he deserved Stiles, not after the way he'd treated the Omega. Sure, he could make it up to him somehow, but he honestly believed it would take the rest of his life to do just that.

And that was after he got his shit together and made himself worthy of being with Stiles in some capacity. And with his behavior over the past couple of months and the wounds that were barely beginning to heal, it was a good chance that would take years. Stiles didn't deserve that either, having to put shit on pause while he waited for some asshole to straighten up and get right. He should be out there having fun, dating around, testing the waters, having relationships...

His wolf grumbled in his head, a low growl that didn't seem to have an end, obviously not pleased with the idea of Stiles being with someone else. And the human half of him wasn't too thrilled with the idea either, his chest getting tight with upset and jealousy and a sort of possessiveness he'd never experienced before.

But if it was what Stiles wanted, he knew without a doubt he'd back off. He just wanted the Omega to be happy and Derek knew that wouldn't happen if he was sitting around waiting for something that would take years to occur.

"Maybe you really _should_ just give up on me," he suggested lowly, eyes locked onto where his hand was wrapped around his cup, thumb rubbing at the condensation on it. "Or at least date someone else in the meantime while I get my shit together."

Stiles snorted, causing Derek to lift his head and shoot the younger man a confused look. "Sorry, I just. I never thought I'd hear an Alpha say something like that, especially to their—" he stopped short, peeking at Derek out the corner of his eye, scent shifting to a strange combination of unsure yet absolutely fucking positive. "Crush?" he suggested with a shrug, shaking his head before wrapping his arms around his torso once more.

Derek stared at him for a long moment, taking in a sharp jaw and an upturned nose, a lean body and broad shoulders, tawny hair and dark lashes. He knew Stiles was attractive, just like he knew water would be wet and the sun would rise in the east and the day ended with a "y". But it never failed to stop his heart and freeze his lungs when he took in just how beautiful the younger man was.

He hoped that reaction would never change.

"Yeah," he breathed out, knowing it was heard by the way the Omega inhaled it sharply and held it. "Crush works."

There was more to it and they both knew it. But shit had been heavy enough that day with full moon recoveries, talks of dead parents, and fuck ups. And knowing was enough. At least for Derek.

At least for the moment.

Stiles nodded his head like he agreed, taking another long drink of his shake and Derek mimicked the action. "Just so you know," the younger man began once he swallowed his mouthful and put his cup aside. "I'm not gonna. Date others or whatever bullshit it was that you just suggested."

Derek lowered his cup and opened his mouth to argue but a hand held up in his direction shut him up before he uttered more than an objecting syllable.

"I think by now you've figured out how fucking stubborn I can be," Stiles stated, giving him a pointed look that had Derek turning away. "I'm not giving up on you or the idea of an eventual us so get the fuck over it. Besides you probably need my help getting your head out your ass." He smirked at the last part, visible out the corner of Derek's eye and the Alpha scowled at it.

Once again he was struck by the need to argue, wanted to point out how he was perfectly capable of extracting his own head, but... but he wasn't entirely sure if that was even true. He had to admit, having help wouldn't hurt and it would go a long way to making amends if others knew he had someone already in his corner backing him up every step of the way. And if he faltered, stumbled, tripped in his way to straightening his shit out, he'd have someone to catch him, to turn him back in the right direction.

Only...

"I have no idea where to start," he muttered, brow drawing into a worried frown, free left hand rubbing at his thigh and feeling the slick mesh fabric of his shorts slide.

"Apologizing would help," Stiles suggested with a shrug of a shoulder, not even needing to know what Derek was referring to in order to understand. "Actually talking to people and telling them where you're coming from, what you're thinking and feeling, rather than just shutting them out. It helped with me and my dad."

The Alpha nodded, knowing it was good advice, feeling even more sound in his own belief that having the teen in his corner would be a giant help. Stiles had been there, had acted out after the death of a parent—of his _werewolf_ parent and would know what he's talking about. All of his advice would come from a place of experience and while their situations weren't one-hundred percent the same, it was similar enough to where his words would still ring true for Derek.

He lifted his head and gave the other man an earnest expression, swallowing hard before speaking. "I'm sorry."

A burst of surprise colored Stiles' scent, his eyebrows lifting momentarily before his features morphed into a small smile. "It's okay."

Derek frowned at the easy forgiveness, at the tightness that was around Stiles' eyes that spoke to an underlying hurt that still remained. "No, it's not. I slammed you into things, I growled at you, I pushed you away. I'm gonna make it up to you, I'm gonna explain it all. One day, just," he paused, wincing, wishing he was ready to say it all, wishing he knew how to explain his past behavior when he didn't fully understand it. "Not today."

"I'll be here ready to listen whenever you're ready to say it." The smile on his face was easy this time, no tensing around his eyes, no hidden wince, no hurt note buried in his scent. Just an easy acceptance and a conviction that spoke to his faith in Derek and his ability to become a better man, a better Alpha, a better _person_.

Rising to his feet, he walked over to Stiles with an ease he didn't feel ten minutes ago, sore, tired muscles healing even more. He didn't hesitate once he reached the Omega, simply slid his arms around him and buried his nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling that citrus-sweet scent and relaxing into the first hug he'd voluntarily gave since the news of his father's death. Stiles froze for half a moment, his heart doing the same before picking up double-time, and he put his cup down on the counter before his own long arms wrapped around Derek's upper back.

The Alpha let out a sigh of relief at the embrace being returned, tension leaving his body on a shudder, his own heart racing the other man's. The warm notes of happiness and contentment filled his nose with every citrus-tinged inhaled and he felt his wolf roll over to show its belly, just as pleased and peaceful as the rest of him, and he shut his eyes tight to block out the rest of the world. All he needed was the Omega in his arms, that scent in his nose and that heartbeat against his chest.

"Thank you," he breathed out, words muffled against Stiles' skin.

A cheek rubbed against the side of his neck, making him shiver, a smile pressed into the same spot soon after. "Any time, big guy."

Derek buried the smile on his face into Stiles' skin, ignoring the content rumble that came out of his chest in response to the promise.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Have you ever had sex?”

The question scrambled Derek's brain momentarily, causing him to nearly choke on a chocolate chip as he struggled to figure out exactly how they had gotten to that point.

Okay, so after holding on to the guy for longer than sociably acceptable and mentally chalking it up to his wolf still being too close to the surface—a lie really but he was refusing to think about the truth—they both finished off their milkshakes and pointedly ignored the extended hug. Stiles poured the rest between their two cups and rinsed the blender out before they both settled back down on the couch where the Omega shared more stories about his dad helping his mom out post-shift, which then led to stories about staying with friends during a certain time of the year.

Which, apparently, led to Stiles asking Derek if he'd ever had sex.

Because of course.

He lowered his cup, turning to the teen he was sitting on the couch with, watching as he blinked rapidly, brown eyes wide and expectant with an air of innocence he had no fucking right to project given the question he'd just asked.

Classic Stiles.

Derek mentally shook it all off, chewing what was in his mouth, shrugging a shoulder and nodding. And not entirely seeing the point in the question.

All right, maybe he did. It'd become glaringly obvious over the past couple days that his... _thing_ for Stiles was reciprocated, which meant that Stiles would be interested in things like Derek's past experience in relationships—and in the bedroom. Which, of course, further meant that Derek now wanted to know every single fucking thing Stiles had ever done, who he'd done it with, and how he could sink his claws into those motherfuckers and...

And do nothing because they weren't like that. Not to mention that sort of thing was illegal since humans just didn't understand the primal urge to rip apart competition.

Not that he was gonna compete with anyone for anything. Stiles wasn't a prize, this wasn't medieval times, and Derek wasn't a fucking barbarian.

He wasn't. He wasn't. He wasn't.

He also wasn't convincing himself very well.

Fuck.

Stiles nodded like a bobble-head, frowning down at where he was repeatedly stabbing a spoon into his milkshake—because he needed something to fiddle with, of fucking course—scent hard to figure out. “Soooo,” he stretched the word out, curiosity becoming the more dominant note in his chemosignals, with a slight hint of worry and self-consciousness. “Waaaaas it good?”

The Alpha drew his brow together contemplatively, lips pulled down in a thoughtful pout. “Which time?”

He snorted in disbelief, head rocking, mouthing a “wow” as his eyes widened and he turned to the older man. “Why am I not surprised you've done it more than once?” he muttered, probably to himself more than anything, continuing at a slightly louder volume. “And with more than one person, right?”

Derek nodded, not seeing the point in lying, not entirely sure if he was proud of his past experience since it meant he knew what he was doing in bed and would be able to please Stiles, or embarrassed and regretful, wanting to have Stiles be the only person he'd hooked up with.

Not that it mattered really. If there was one thing he'd learned over the past two months was that you couldn't change anything about your past. Make up for mistakes? Maybe, if you were willing to put in the work. But you couldn't undo anything, couldn't erase it completely, couldn't make it go away, just make it hurt a little less when you looked back on it.

“Paige when I was fifteen, we dated a few months before she moved away,” he told, voice low, eyes focused on the contents of his own cup. He couldn't look at Stiles while coming clean about this shit, felt too open, those holes in his walls widening, gaping now. Eye contact would make the crumbling mortar and cracked bricks completely fall apart and leave him impossibly bared under heavy whiskey eyes.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat, swirling his cup around, watching chocolate chips spin around the melted portion of his milkshake. “Then a summer fling with this guy Adam at a lacrosse camp upstate, then I dated Kate for about two years.”

Stiles nodded, taking it all in, drinking deep from his milkshake then wincing at the shot of brain freeze that came as a free chaser. Swallowing hard, he rested the cup on his knee, the other one bouncing, anxiety and self-deprecation growing stronger in his scent but still overpowered by his curiosity. “Scott told me she was a bitch,” he commented, shrugging a shoulder and swiping a finger under his nose like it was no biggie, like he didn't care, like it wasn't important.

Frowning, Derek kept staring at his drink, kept swirling it around, thinking back on his time with Kate. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and he felt like he'd just had Lasik, allowing him to clearly see all the bullshit their relationship was comprised of. She was rude, callous, uncaring, selfish, egotistical, entitled...basically, a bitch.

"Yeah,” he breathed out, raising his cup to his lips. “She was.”

Confusion was an overwhelming scent and out the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Stiles shifting in his seat, turning so he was tucked into the corner of the couch, facing Derek full on. A puzzled sneer was on his face, spoon shoved in his mouth, and he pulled it out with a pop. “Why'd you date her then?”

“She wasn't a bitch in the beginning,” he argued, feeling a strange need to defend her—or, more accurately, defend his decision. He smeared a hand down his face, rubbed at his whiskered cheek, then gestured at nothing. “I dunno. I guess it just made sense or some shit. Varsity basketball player, varsity cheerleader. All the cliches say we should've been together.” He paused, letting out a sigh as he shook his head helplessly. “After a while, it was just safer to stay together. We both got used to being together and didn't wanna look elsewhere for anyone or whatever. Plus,” he gestured with his cup. “The sex wasn't terrible so.” He wrapped it up with a shrug and took a drink.

Stiles scowled at his now empty cup, scent shifting to full-on upset and staying there, shoulders hunching as he curled in on himself. Immediately Derek felt like he'd fucked up in some way, that he'd said the wrong thing, that his words had been what had caused such a negative reaction in the Omega.

But what exactly it was that he'd said that had caused it...

He'd been completely honest, for better or worse—probably more worse, considering the salty taste of sadness that hung in the air and the way Stiles was now completely still, brow pulled in a hard line and teeth sinking into his bottom lip. But maybe...maybe it wasn't his honesty or too much honesty or not enough, it was just the facts he'd stated. His and Kate's relationship started out as an image thing and really only progressed to a sex thing. Derek had thought it had been love, but chances were it was just hormones at work and the fact that he was regularly getting his dick wet.

Now, looking back, with fresh eyes and a clear head, he knew it wasn't what he thought it'd been. And deep down, he'd probably known that at the time, but had grown too comfortable in his role as Kate Argent's Boyfriend and what came with it—like the power behind the Argent name and the ability to get laid without too much effort in seeking out a partner. He'd never really cared about her, not in the deep way he was supposed to love someone. It'd been the same amount of concern he'd felt for his friends, his teammates, nothing like what he was feeling even now for Stiles. For Erica, Isaac, Boyd.

For his family. Maria included.

He glanced at the saddened Omega on the couch with him, took in long lashes and a sharp jawline, pouting lips and an upturned nose. His chest grew tight at the sight of him, his stomach doing that weird swooping thing where it felt like it was falling, and he inhaled sharply, a minute quirk of the eyebrow the only hint that Stiles had caught the noise. With Stiles, it wouldn't just be sex or an image thing. It wouldn't be the cliché of varsity cheerleader and captain of the lacrosse team. It wouldn't be a power play out of some stupid superficial bullshit need to gain even more popularity by combining it with another's. It would be deeper, heartfelt, powerful in a completely different way.

It scared the shit out of Derek.

Yet for all the terror it induced, he couldn't help but want it, one day in the future. He wanted the making love rather than having sex, he wanted to hold hands for the connection rather than a show, he wanted to kiss for the feel of Stiles' lips on his rather than one-upping someone else's PDA. He wanted date nights and anniversaries and to say cheesy shit, pay compliments, wax poetic over mole-kissed skin and cupid's bow lips and not be told he was pathetic and a loser and asked what the fuck was wrong with him, was he retarded. He wanted to know what made Stiles' breath catch and thighs shake and lips part on a moan not so he could get the guy wet so he could get laid already, but because he wanted to bring the Omega pleasure more than he wanted to be pleased himself. He wanted to take care of him, provide for him, protect him more than punching out some pissant Beta in a locker room.

He wanted a _real_ relationship. He wanted it with Stiles.

He just didn't think he was ready for it quite yet.

He opened his mouth to explain all of it, to actually admit it out loud for once in his pathetic life, only to have the doorbell ring and completely shatter the moment. His head snapped towards the door, a low growl leaving him, lip pulled back in a sneer as his wolf raised its hackles and echoed his sentiment. Whoever was there had made a very fucking stupid—and deadly—decision by choosing to come over, by choosing to interrupt him while he was spending time with his Omega, and they were fucking gonna know about it, too.

“Open up, Alpha-Man!” demanded a familiar female voice, fist pounding on the door for back-up. “We know you're home! Quit growling and let us in!”

Goddammit, Erica.

Putting his cup on the coffee table, he rested his elbows on his knees, roughing his hands over his face as he let out a few choice swears. Out of all the times and days for her to come over and be obnoxious...

His attention was pulled away from his internal ranting by the sounds of fabric shuffling and he lifted his head to find Stiles rising to his feet, grabbing his backpack from where it'd been laying on the ground. Immediately his heart began pounding faster, harder, wolf whimpering in his head, hand reaching out to wrap around Stiles' wrist as the teen bent over to pick up his book where it was laying on the coffee table.

“You don't have to leave,” Derek declared, swallowing hard as he stared up at the Omega with pleading eyes. But Stiles wasn't looking at him, eyes locked on where fingers were wrapped around his bare forearm, on the thumb rubbing at his pulse-point, his own heart beating faster than it had all afternoon—save for the moment when Derek had spontaneously used his lap as a pillow and the just as spontaneous long ass hug in the kitchen.

He really needed to have a discussion with his wolf about personal boundaries and dragging people into cuddling.

“It's fine,” Stiles murmured, voice rough, lifting his eyes to give the older man a shaky smile. “Seriously. I should head home anyway, see if my dad's up.”

It wasn't a lie, but there was still something in the way he held himself, in the way he spoke that gave voice to reluctance, to a desire to not do what he'd just said he was gonna do. Derek felt an all-consuming urge to volunteer to go with him, to suggest he send the Pack home and that he join Stiles at his house, that maybe they could continue the book over there, maybe even with his dad joining them.

Only he didn't say it out loud.

Because it was too much, too close to the relationship thing he'd briefly contemplated moments before, and he suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed by everything, by Stiles and the thought of having him as something more than what this afternoon had been.

So with great reluctance of his own, Derek nodded and let his fingers slip away from a slender wrist, immediately missing the feel of soft skin on his palm, the tingles the contact had induced. “Okay,” he whispered thickly, hand falling onto his lap, head ducking to stare at it as he tangled his fingers together. “You can finish reading it to me some other time then.”

A throat was cleared, the book lifted off the table and placed inside the backpack with great care, and Derek caught the scent of happiness, swirling in the air with the sadness of Stiles' impending departure. “Yeah. There's always next full moon, right?”

The knowledge of that had the Alpha's sluggish heart kicking up a beat again, corner of his lips pulling up despite his desire to mope and pout. “Right.”

Stiles nodded and without another word, he walked around the coffee table and made his way to the front door, opening it up to reveal a surprised Pack.

“Why, hello there, Stilinski,” Erica greeted, smirk evident in her voice, mischievous giggle leaving her.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles returned it companionably, shuffling his way past them. “Bye, guys.”

Footsteps, the door shutting, and Derek buried his face in his hands again, wolf whimpering in his head with a patheticness he wanted to echo out loud.

“Oh, Alpha-Man,” Erica sighed out as she drew closer, the sound of two more pairs of feet following, Isaac and Boyd clearly having joined her. She flopped back on the couch right before someone gingerly lowered themselves onto the armchair—Isaac, Derek guessed—slipping her shoes off then repeatedly poking him in the thigh with her toe. “You got some 'splainin' to dooooo!” she quipped, Ricky Ricardo accent on point, mischievous giggle from moments before back in full force.

“Shit.”


	17. Confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing, Kids.
> 
> I genuinely was gonna abandon this fic. Like, I was over it. My heart wasn't in it anymore, I was getting into other fandoms and wanted to write for them, and I just. Yeah, I was over this fic. Didn't care.
> 
> But my love for it was recently ignited and I'm now kind of dealing with the whole "wow, people actually _like_ this fic???!!!" thing (which blows my mind for literally everything I write tbh) so...yeah, hi, not abandoned, here's an update.
> 
> No, I don't know when the next one will be up. I have other writing projects happening (when don't I, honestly?!) and this was done basically when I was feeling very SMU-moody so who knows when that'll happen again *shrugging guy* Also I have no idea if this is still twenty-eight chapters. My notes for it got packed up and are currently in an unknown box in a storage unit so. I'm back to winging it basically. Whoops!

“Okay, seriously, you know it's _killing_ me!”

Erica had a flair for the dramatics, something Derek had noticed over the few measly days he'd known her. And Derek? Well, Derek had a flair for ignoring people and he put his talent to good use, keeping his face buried in his hands. It was strange really. He was the most anti-social person in the house, yet over the past couple days, every knock on the door had been for him. The Pack, the sheriff, Stiles, the Pack again.

Apparently the prickly exterior he'd been accused of having wasn't quite sharp enough to keep folks away.

He heard the shuffling of fabric, a tired grunt as someone sat on the floor judging by the muffled squeak of floorboards hidden under carpet and foam insulation. His thigh was poked by a bare toe again, before the entire foot shoved at him, barely jostling him where he sat.

“Dereeeeeek,” Erica stretched his name out in a whine, moving her foot and digging her toe into his side, causing him to squirm. Which, of course, made her dig it in more, slinking down on the couch to follow him when he moved. “Pay attention to meeee.” She shifted her foot up so it was digging in his armpit and he finally jumped off the couch, dropping his hands so he could glare at her. She shrugged, nonplussed, grinning up at him victoriously.

Brat.

He peered around the room, finding Isaac on the armchair, in gray sweats and a black sweatshirt, entirely focused on straightening the tassels on his maroon scarf. Boyd was on the floor, leaning back against the couch, maroon lacrosse shorts on and gray “ _Beacon Hills Lycanthropic High Cyclones_ ” hoodie covering his torso. His legs were bent, arms dangling loosely off them, eyes closed as he rested his head where Erica had sprawled out on the couch. Erica herself was dressed in the same lazy slob fashion as the rest of them, giant gray “ _BHLHS LAX_ ” tee on, black yoga pants, flip flops discarded on the floor under the coffee table. Her hair was frizzy, pulled back in a messy ponytail with fly-aways framing her face like a halo, and her face was surprisingly make-up free. She looked more vulnerable than Derek had ever seen her, as though her red lipstick and corsets were an armor she put on to face the daily bullshit of high school life.

And really, it made sense, given what tiny peeks into her life he'd gotten, and it went right along with the epiphany he'd had earlier. His shield of anger, Stiles' armor made of sarcasm and self-deprecation. Erica had forged one of her own with her hair and make-up and flawless appearance, while Boyd hid behind a stoic mask, keeping his emotions on lockdown. And Isaac? He hid behind his scarf like it was a security blanket, obsessively straightening things out as though it would straighten out his life, too.

All of them were damaged in some way, and all of them put up a front to keep others from seeing it.

But that metaphorical Lasik surgery that had allowed Derek to see his past more clearly was now letting him get a good look at others around him, letting him truly see them for who they were, past all the fronts and armor and shields and walls.

He wrapped his arms around his torso as though he could hide himself away again, as though he could cover up the holes Stiles had made in his walls, as though he could keep the cracks together until he could fortify himself once more.

' _All the King's horses and all the King's men..._ ' his mind teased and he swallowed hard against it, ducking his head to further hide from everyone and everything.

“Seriously!” Erica cried out, drawing his attention once more. “Why was Stilinski here? Getting a li'l post-shift lovin'?” She waggled her eyebrows at that and sank her teeth into her bottom lip with a salacious smirk, giggling once again.

Derek eyed a throw pillow on the couch, squished from where he'd been sitting only moments ago. Boyd cleared his throat, giving him an entirely unamused look, shaking his head slowly to show he knew what Derek had been thinking and he very fucking much did not approve.

He cocked an eyebrow but let it go. His two protein shakes had gone a long way in helping the aches, but he was still tired and a little sore and not in the mood for either throttling Erica with the throw pillow as he'd mentally planned or dealing with the repercussions of it at the clawed hands of Boyd.

Derek might've been an Alpha and therefore stronger, but Boyd was bigger and not exactly a scrawny li'l twerp in the muscle department.

“No,” he answered her, turning his attention back to the lone female. “And I'm not discussing why he was here so don't bother asking again.” With that, he shoved her feet off the couch and sank back down onto his previous seat, slumped with his legs spread.

She rolled her eyes before putting her feet right back on the couch, legs bent and leaning against the back of the sofa, head on the arm, brown eyes focused on him. “Fine. I'll just wheedle you for info about that fight with Whittemore instead.” At that, she lifted her foot, wiggling her toes menacingly and cackling like a villain in a cheesy action movie.

He needed new friends.

The thought made him pause where he was rubbing at his forehead, wondering when the hell exactly he began considering the trio his friends. It wasn't what he planned, wasn't what he wanted.

Then again, if he'd learned anything over the past six months, it was that life or fate or the universe, whatever it was, it didn't give a fuck what Derek wanted. It had its own plans happening and he was just stuck going along for the ride. He might as well just suck it the fuck up and enjoy it. 

Or at the very least accept shit.

Like the fact that these three assholes taking up space in the Delgado living room were actually starting to matter to him, were actually starting to become something important to him, something he'd never really had.

Real friends.

He dropped his hand onto the arm of the sofa and looked at each of them, _really_ looked. Isaac with his cherubic looks and trembling fingers picking imaginary lint off his pants. Boyd with his flat features and deep, fathomless eyes that told everything his face tried to hide. Erica with her wide eyes and innocent face that seemed more vulnerable than ever without her war paint. They'd wanted him to be their Pack Alpha and Derek wondered how the hell someone as damaged as he was could ever lead a group as damaged as they were.

Maybe that's what they needed. Not a blind-leading-the-blind kinda thing, but someone who understood what it was like and not heal them per se, but give them the motivation to heal themselves, show them it was possible and lead by example.

He glanced around the room once more, running his hand through his hair over and over again. Committing to a Pack was a big deal though. It was on par with taking a Mate, more serious than a human's marriage. There was no divorcing, no separation, no “ _we're just taking some time apart to figure out what we need and if it's worth saving_.” Hell, he didn't even think there was therapy for Pack issues. It was worked out within the group, no outside help or counseling. If he wasn't the right Alpha for them, he could screw them up even more than they already were, bring nothing but misery and pain to all of their lives and for what? The ego boost of being a Pack Alpha? The power of being in charge of people? Not worth it. And not something he'd ever been interested in in the first place.

A damaged Alpha may be good for the three of them, but a damaged one who'd fixed him- or herself. The way he was at that moment, he'd definitely fuck them all up.

“Deeeereeeek,” Erica sing-songed, toes wiggling again, and he turned to her, belatedly remembering that she'd asked about Whittemore. His wolf growled at the memory of the dick—not that the human part of Derek could blame it—but honestly, the thought of that fuckhead was safer than anything involving the Pack.

But still...

He let his head fall against the back of the couch, face turned to the ceiling before he covered it with both hands and scrubbed, muffling his groan. The girl was ruthless, that much was clear, as well as the fact that she was completely undeterred in anything and everything she did. It was obvious from the moment she started bugging him to be Pack Alpha, then help her with her Calc homework, then again with trying to get info from him, whether it be regarding his feelings for Stiles or the incident with Whittemore.

Not that it wasn't already plainly obvious what happened there. He was sure the school gossip mill had a pretty good idea when both Derek and Whittemore had been sent home and Stiles had walked around bruised, carrying the Beta's scent.

He let out a long sigh as his hands fell into his lap with a loud smack. "Nothing to tell there," he mumbled, head rolling to her when she snorted, catching the end of her eye roll. "Seriously."

"Seriously, you're full of shit," she argued, giving him a deadpan look that said she wasn't taking it from him. Both Boyd nodded in agreement while Isaac drew his legs up onto the armchair, pulling them to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, chin resting on his knees. "Look," Erica began, drawing Derek's attention back to her. "It's obvious you kicked his ass for giving Stilinski shit. The question is why you care and why you got involved. Your recent behavior doesn't exactly paint you out to be the kind of guy who gets involved with, like, anyone, much less coming between an Omega and his bully."

Derek leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, head ducked as he wrung the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to curl in on himself much the way Isaac was, to hide away and just be left alone to deal with his shit on his own, rather than putting it on display for all to see and dissect the way Erica wanted.

Okay, that was a lie.

What he wanted most was to travel back a few hours, to when he was curled up in Stiles' lap, that sugary-sweet scent in his nose, the lull of his voice in his ear as he read, the feel of his warmth against Derek. He wanted it again, always, the two of them wrapped up in one another, tangled together until they were impossible to separate. He wanted that rabbit fast heartbeat pounding away against his own, wanted pale flesh pressed to his tanned skin, wanted his every inhale to be full of citrus and sugar and home and pack and _mine_ and...

Fuck, he wanted Stiles. And he didn't deserve the guy. He wasn't ready for him, to be what Stiles needed.

And it _killed_.

A toe poked into his side and he grunted in irritation and acknowledgment, squirming once more when Erica just dug it in between two of his ribs.

"Seriously, Alpha-Man, just answer the question and I'll stop trying to stab you with my pedicure."

Another sigh escaped him, gusting out his nose, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I just don't think anyone should give anyone any shit due to some perceived bullshit notion that they're weaker," he murmured, fingers tangling together between his spread knees. "My dad raised us to treat everyone as equals, regardless of species or gender or dynamic. So when someone's getting picked on or abused for being smaller or younger or not as strong, whatever, it just." He lifted his head, staring straight ahead at the empty fireplace, at the charred marks of flames past and the spiderweb that had recently been built in it. "I was defending an Omega," he dismissed, shrugging a shoulder. "No one should ever prey upon the weak like that." His eyes narrowed at the last part, jaw set as he spoke with conviction, fingers curling into fists and he was struck with the sudden urge to track Whittemore down and make sure he'd learned his lesson.

The room grew silent, nothing but the hum of the AC, the buzz of the lights overhead, three steady heartbeats and one pounding at a fast rate. Derek turned to Isaac, scenting the air, sorting through Erica's pride and Boyd's approval, finding Isaac's anxiety and upset.

Blue eyes flipped to him, wide, the rest of his features flat, and he unfolded his long legs to place his feet on the ground. "'Scuse me," he murmured tremulously, hands shaking as he put them on the arms of the chair and pushed himself into a standing position. He didn't look at any of them as he quickly stepped around the armchair and headed straight into the kitchen, the faucet immediately cutting on to cover up any other sounds.

Boyd and Erica exchanged upset looks but didn't comment, leaving Derek to fill in the blanks by himself. Which came with the memory of Boyd telling him that Isaac's dad wasn't a good man, inferring that some sort of abuse was going on there. Add in how meek Isaac was, his OCD tendencies, the fact that he was covering up any distressed sounds with running water, it all made the assumption seem even more likely.

And now the fact that Derek was insisting that no one should be harmed for being weaker, it obviously struck a nerve in Isaac and he couldn't handle it, leaving the room to cover his upset.

Derek was standing outside the kitchen without even being conscious of the command to get up, pausing in the threshold as he tried to figure out what the fuck exactly he was about to do. He ignored the two curious scents coming from behind him, focusing inside the kitchen instead, taking in the sight of Isaac standing right next to the spot Stiles had occupied a mere hour or so before, the lean male in front of the sink, hands grasping the counter, shoulders tense but body trembling with every shaky, strained inhale. The salty scent of upset hung in the air, joined by that of the staleness of past terror and fear, and the underlying notes of uncertainty, like he himself wasn't sure how to react, what any of it all meant.

The Alpha cleared his throat and gently called out Isaac's name, noting the slight wince as his shoulders bunched up on automatic. But the curly-haired one forced himself to relax, nodding his hung head, and Derek took it as permission to enter. But he didn't approach the skittish male, not directly, choosing instead to head to the counter running along the side of the room, adjacent to Isaac, leaning back against it with those gaudy seventies tins he'd been staring at earlier now obscured by his muscular frame.

Silence was a third party in the room, Isaac seeming lost in his head as he stared unseeing down at the sink, the blender jar filled with soapy water and left to soak until someone gathered enough of a fuck to actually wash it properly. Derek was caught up in his own thoughts, wondering what exactly had been the trigger to cause the other man to up and leave the room, remembering Boyd's inferences once more, then trying to figure out how exactly to begin the conversation. Or even what the conversation should be about in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying, genuinely meaning it, hand wringing the back of his neck.

Isaac's head snapped around to him, blue eyes wide and mouth hanging open as his scent burst with surprise. He smacked his lips closed, swallowed hard, lowered his lids to their usual level, all while his eyes glanced away. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you apologize," he stated lowly in an easygoing tone that wasn't felt, a small laugh joining that he didn't seem to mean either, like he was making light of it. All the while his eyes danced back and forth between cautious glances at the older man and staring blankly outside, like he wanted to gauge Derek's reaction but couldn't maintain eye contact for whatever reason.

Derek shrugged as he shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at his bare feet as he lined his big toes with a crack in the linoleum where it was peeling apart. "I mean it though," he put out there, voice low, calm, steady, not wanting to upset Isaac any more than he already had and cause the guy to take off running out the house. "Whatever I said or did just now, I—"

"It's not you," Isaac interrupted, managing to actually look at him while he said it before turning back to the window. "It's just." He stopped, huffed, smeared a hand down his face before ducking his head and staring at the sink once more. Silence descended again and the tension increased and Derek stood there unmoving, waiting for the other man to gather his thoughts, knowing what was coming next would be heavy enough to shatter the fragile seeming Isaac.

The curly-haired one peeked at Derek, an eyebrow slightly cocked in curiosity, lips twisted to the side. "Did Boyd or Erica ever tell you about," he paused again, struggling once more with his words. "My home life?"

Derek's fingers curled into fists as he thought about it, about the conclusions he'd drawn and what it meant for Isaac. "Boyd said your dad wasn't a good person," he admitted, trying to keep the bite out of his words lest the other man think the venom was aimed at him, that it was due to information being held from him. "I got a pretty good idea about it from that and your behavior."

Isaac nodded and turned away, shame coloring his scent, and he sniffed loudly in the otherwise silent room. "Pops likes order, shit to be a certain way, everything in its place. When it wasn't, I—" he stopped completely, wincing as his body cringed as though protecting himself from a physical blow that wasn't gonna come.

The Alpha felt his nailbeds tingle, claws aching to descend, to hunt down the elder Lahey and tear into him for every strike he gave his son. Part of him reasoned it was due to his wolf still being too close to the surface, burying the truth further down, refusing to acknowledge it just yet. He'd barely come to grips with his feelings for Stiles; there was no fucking way he was getting a handle on anything else, not yet anyway, not after his earlier decision to not think about anything Pack-related while his own mental and emotional status were so fucked.

"Things are okay now," Isaac went on, turning back to Derek with a watery smile. "My older brother, Camden, he found out what was going on and when he finished his final tour in the Army, he filed a petition for custody. Took a long time but I live with him now. Didn't hurt that Pops was collared on this unrelated drunk and disorderly charge. Cam told all about our dad's drinking habit and the court deemed him unsuitable, so I got to move out. Still though." His voice grew quiet, head ducked as the small smile disappeared from his face completely. "Some habits are hard to unlearn. Keeping shit straight and orderly was drilled into me and sometimes those little OCD-like behaviors are the only things that stop me from panicking."

Derek scowled at the floor, feeling like a dick once more for being so selfish that he was blinded to those around him and their suffering. Other people had it much worse than he did and he needed to quit being a pissant crybaby about it and move on.

Or at least try to.

He cleared his throat, shuffled slightly as the edge of the counter was digging into his lower back, eyes still trained on the floor. "Where was your mom during all this?"

"Died giving birth to me," Isaac said flatly, like her death meant nothing. And maybe it didn't. He had no memories of her, felt no attachments towards the woman who'd conceived and carried and birthed him. "Mom" was a general idea of a person in his eyes and probably didn't even feel real, like a figure out of their history books or a character in a story. The clinical detachment made sense.

"Another thing for Pops to hate me for, another excuse to beat me," he went on, sardonic smile curving up one side of his mouth, once again trying to make light of it. "That, plus I'm weaker in every sense." He shrugged like it didn't bother him but his shoulders held too much tension to be anything remotely close to nonchalant, his scent salty with upset and bitter with resentment.

His claws ached to slide out once more and Derek opened his mouth to repeat what he'd just said in the living room, that no one had any right to lay a hand on Isaac out of some preconceived bullshit belief of being less-than, only to be cut off.

"I guess that's kind of why what you said hit so hard," Isaac admitted, turning around to lean back against the sink, arms wrapped around his torso. "Cam doesn't ever talk about it. And not out of some, like, if we don't talk about it and pretend it never happened then it didn't way of thinking, ya know? But, like—"

"Because he doesn't know what to say," Derek interrupted, knowing the feeling.

"Yeah," he breathed out, scratching his square chin. "And I think part of him feels guilty for leaving me there. I catch the scent on him sometimes when he looks at me for too long or if something causes me to jump or flinch or whatever. And I try to tell him it's not his fault, or mine, but. I don't think he gets it."

The Alpha nodded, not entirely sure what else there was to say, how to react. Abuse was real, he knew it was, especially at the hands of an Alpha. It was why his dad's old secretary always cowered when she messed something up. It was why the little girl down the block from them in Queens always had a bruise of some sort before disappearing entirely and her mom was dragged away in cuffs. It was why Scott and Melissa and Maria had reacted the way they had when Derek had pinned Stiles against the wall, growling, that first night in California. But it always seemed so far from him, that little girl four houses away, the secretary he only saw once a month at most, child abuse and domestic abuse only really seen on episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_. The victims always disappeared from his mind the second they disappeared from his vision. Not once since his dad's death had he thought about the former administrator's well-being, not once did he think about whether or not that little girl was okay, not once did he ever wonder about any of the victims on TV.

Until then.

Because Isaac was part of his life now, dragged in by Erica and her insistence in sticking around. Because Isaac was a real victim who wouldn't be leaving with the end credits or the ME van that took the little girl's corpse away. A new family had moved into that house and Derek had forgotten the kid's name and life had gone on for everyone on that street. The scars were covered by new rose bushes and a fresh coat of paint, a new name on the mailbox and cars in the driveway. It made it all so tragically easy to pretend it never happened and forget that little girl's suffering. It was easy to ignore it all when you no longer had to see the pain held within bruised eyes or the tremble in a cut lip.

Isaac no longer bore the physical wounds, but he still held the mental and emotional ones, the psychological scars too deep to ever fully heal. Derek had ignored that little girl, too selfishly caught up in his own shit, pretended not to see it like the rest of the neighborhood pretended because it was easier than getting involved, than trying to take on an Alpha mom. He couldn't ignore Isaac. He didn't want to.

He glanced towards the living room, stretched his hearing to take in the low murmurs happening between Erica and Boyd. He thought over what he'd witnessed with them: the rift in the Boyd family, Erica's mentions of her own dead parents, her comments over how the three of them had formed their own ragtag Pack because they were all alone and lonely. Every one of them had scars. It was all a matter of how well one let them heal and how they wore them.

“Talking to Morrell helps though,” Isaac went on, pulling Derek's attention back to find a small twist of the lips on is face as though trying to prove everything was okay, that _he_ was okay. “The counselor? I don't see her as often, more of, like, on a need-to basis these days. But still. It helps a lot."

Derek slowly nodded once, remembering his own experiences with the guidance counselor and her suggestions that should he need to discuss anything regarding his father's passing or his moving, she was available. Made sense for someone in Isaac's situation to take advantage of what amounted to free therapy.

He just wasn't sure if he was ready to do that himself.

If he'd ever be ready. Or even want to be ready. He'd never been all that open to sharing shit even before he'd numbed out and putting everything on display for a stranger to judge wasn't his idea of a good time, regardless of how much help it may have been.

“I'm glad,” he commented with a small quirk of his own lips.

Isaac nodded, his smile growing a small amount with relief that his methods of recovery were approved of. Not that Derek's opinion should matter. It was Isaac's life and how he chose to get it in order was his own. Fuck what anyone else thinks.

Then again, for Isaac, that was probably an easier said than done kinda thing.

“I have an idea.”

Both heads snapped to the doorway where Erica now stood, leaning against the frame with her hands tucked inside her oversized shirt as though it was the pocket of a hoodie. Her brown eyes seemed wider without the make-up as they flicked back and forth between the two males and Derek briefly wondered how long she'd been there, how much she'd heard. A glance at Isaac showed he wasn't entirely bothered by possible eavesdropping, most likely because Erica was already aware of what skeletons his closet held, so Derek figured he shouldn't be upset by it either, focusing back on the female.

“What's your idea?” he sighed out, the faucet at the kitchen sink finally being cut off. No more need for the sound of it drowning out any other noises.

Probably had been a waste of water in all honesty.

Part of Derek was pleased by it, in a dickhead sort of way, knowing Maria was most likely the one footing the water bill. Served her right.

She withdrew her hands from her shirt and held them out in front of her, body width apart, reminding Derek of that weird “ _aliens_ ” meme guy with the crazy hair. “Blanket fort,” Erica answered with a grin, brown eye sparkling.

Isaac frowned and turned to Derek, who just scowled at her in disbelief. “Blanket fort?”

“Yeah.” She retucked her hands in her shirt. “Or sheet fort. Let's face it, you have plenty to spare, Alpha-Man.” At that, she gave him a pointed look that had Isaac's confusion growing and his own ears heating up as he remembered exactly why he'd stockpiled on the damn things in the first place.

“Fine,” he grit out, pointing a finger at her in warning. “But only if you never bring up the reason why I have them.”

She gave him a mock-salute then turned on a heel, ponytail whirling behind her with the movement. “Boyd! Order pizza!” she called out as she literally marched back into the living room.

Isaac kept staring at him, puzzlement and uncertainty tainting his scent, and Derek rubbed at his forehead to stave off an Erica-induced migraine. Not how he'd planned his post-Shift day to go.

Somewhere, fate was laughing at him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Erica was a very serious and very detailed blanket fort builder, to the point where Derek asked her if she wanted to borrow some graph paper so she could draft up some blueprints. She simply glared and muttered about how that would involve math and math could go fuck itself, Boyd giving a fond smirk over the statement.

Chairs were brought in from the kitchen, pillows and cushions pulled off the couch and armchairs, extra quilts taken from the linen closet used for the floor. Derek's back up supply of sheets was draped expertly, held in place with clips and rubber bands, enclosing the living room area within the furniture, coffee table included. The sheets hung down to create walls and flaps, just thin enough to let a scant amount of light in and not have the place be totally dark.

Pizza arrived by the time they'd finished, Boyd paying with a credit card and shaking his head at Derek's questioning eyebrow raise. The Alpha grabbed drinks from the kitchen with Isaac's help and soon enough, the four of them were gathered in their spontaneous fort, sitting around the coffee table with food spread around and half a roll of paper towels to clean up any mess.

Derek and Boyd's stomachs were still iffy and unable to handle anything too heavy, but the breadsticks had just enough flavor to not be bland but not be overwhelming. They'd also not gone crazy with the toppings, a couple pepperonis, a couple plain cheeses, tasty but not heavy or crazy. They dug in without preamble or plates and Derek didn't bother warning them to be careful. If they made a mess, he'd clean it. If they stained something of Maria's, he'd see it as karma and not lose sleep over it.

Erica broke the silence after several long minutes, to no one's surprise. "I think this should be a post-Shift tradition," she commented before biting into a slice of pepperoni, sawing through a string of cheese with teeth not quite as bright a white without the red lipstick to contrast against them.

Isaac frowned, swallowing his own bite. "Making a blanket fort?"

Boyd and Derek exchanged a look and the Alpha hated how he could interpret the deadpan stare.

"No, doof," Erica said playfully around a mouthful of food, swallowing then smiling wide to show she meant no harm. Derek peered out the corner of his eyes to check on Isaac, to make sure nothing was taken too hard or too personal, but the curly haired one just simply rolled his eyes. "I mean, us hanging together, grubbing down, _bonding_." She leaned over and bumping against Boyd, who simply ruffled her head affectionately.

Derek's own hand subconsciously went up to his hair, remembering how Stiles had pulled that same move on him only hours before. Then he remembered the tentative plans he had with Stiles for the next post-Shift day and how, no offense to Erica and her two sidekicks, he'd much rather spend time with the Omega.

"I dunno," he muttered, tapping a bitten breadstick against the lid of the box, crumbs and parmesan cheese dropping off.

Erica rolled her wide eyes, passing her unwanted crust to Boyd without looking at him. "We get it. You'd rather Lone Wolf it up or whatever, but—"

"It's not that," he interrupted, knowing she'd argue and whine and wheedle and beg and eventually he'd wind up spilling shit he didn't wanna spill. "I, uh. I kinda already sorta have plans." At that, he shoved half a breadstick in his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anything more.

All them of stared at him, frozen. Erica's head was tilted to one side in puzzlement, brow furrowed and lips twisted. Isaac had stopped mid-chew, wide-eyed and shocked. Boyd simply raised a single eyebrow, dubious, snorting as he dropped it.

"Stilinski, huh?" he said simply, not judging or condemning. It was more of checking he had it right when they both knew he did, giving Derek a chance to deny if he wanted.

Not that he'd really be allowed to, given how Erica's eyes went wide and she rose up to her knees, leaning halfway over the table to get in Derek's face. "Is that why he was here? Was he taking care of you?"

"Oh my god," Derek groaned as he flopped back against the couch, Isaac chewing once more, head going back and forth between Derek and Erica like a tennis match. Boyd simply ate the crust he'd been handed like none of the conversation bothered him and Erica looked like she was five seconds away from actually crawling over the table, sitting herself on Derek, and literally shaking some answers from him.

Christ. How the fuck was this his life?

Erica gasped then giggled, beaming as her eyes twinkled and Derek covered his face with both hands as though they could protect him from her questions. "C'mon, Der," she began, whining. "It's a yes or no question. Was Stiles here to take care of you with your post-Shift aches? Or maybe help take care of something else for you?" A salacious laugh left her and he could picture the evil grin on her face, how her tongue was probably between her teeth and her eyes were sparkling and from the creak that sounded out, she was leaning on the table itself now.

"Erica," Boyd said in a warning tone and Derek heard more creaking, the shuffling of fabric.

The Alpha lifted his head to watch as Erica moved back from where she had been halfway laying on the table, sitting back with her legs tucked under her. She looked chastised but undeterred, brown eyes hard with determination.

"Fine, don't say," she huffed, shuffling so she was on her ass with her legs curled up against her as she picked at a piece of pepperoni. "But honestly given the way you saved his ass the other day, it's obvious he'd wanna take care of you. Not to mention the obvious."

Derek narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, knowing he was most likely gonna regret asking but plowing ahead anyway. "What exactly is 'the obvious'?"

She gave him a completely unamused look and rolled her eyes. "That you two wanna bone each other. Duh." She bit into a slice of pizza, eyes locked on him like she was daring him to argue.

Isaac choked on his soda to Derek's left and Boyd reached across to pat his back through the coughs, and Derek didn't flinch. He was too busy commanding his ears to stop heating up and his heart to stop beating so fast. His wolf hiding behind its paws didn't help either. He felt like a giant, flashing neon sign that read " _Duh!_ " in the exact same tone as Erica had just said it.

"You deny it and I'll castrate you with my bare hands," she warned around a mouthful of half-chewed pizza. Isaac winced and Boyd sighed as he pulled his hand back, shooting his girlfriend a deadpan look. But Erica as always was unflappable and simply sipped her soda through a disposable straw Derek had hunted high and low for.

Ingrate.

He was left sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's barely come to terms with realizing the depths of his feelings for Stiles, had only just begun to admit it to himself, had barely acknowledged it to Stiles with the bullshit statement over a "crush". And while Derek had asked Stiles to come back next post-Shift day, it had been under the guise of finishing _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. Sure, Stiles most likely saw through the bullshit, just like he usually managed to with Derek, but for Derek to actually admit out loud, using actual words, that he honestly just wanted to be around the Omega... that was a whole 'nother thing. A whole 'nother thing he wasn't ready to say to another living soul.

And when he _was_ ready to admit it, it would be to Stiles first, not fucking Erica.

"I'm not denying it," he stated, tone brokering no arguments or interruptions, legs stretching out straight under the table and barely missing hers. "But I'm not admitting anything. Not to you guys. And not right now."

Erica pouted as she chewed, looking extremely put out, clearly not used to not getting her way. Which made sense, considering how her small friendship circle had consisted of her werewolf boyfriend who would do anything to make her happy and a nervous Omega who'd been conditioned into doing whatever he'd been told with no questions or backchat.

Explained why she wouldn't take "no" for an answer when it came to Derek not wanting to be Pack Alpha. Or Pack at all.

Isaac was keeping a wary eye on both Erica and Derek as he absently bit into his own slice, scent taking on a slight nervous tint, unsure of what was about to happen. But surprisingly enough, it was Boyd who broke the silence.

"My sister is dead."

Derek's head snapped to him, eyes momentarily going wide. It was a giant bomb that had just been dropped at random, though one wouldn't be able to tell by looking at the guy's face. But his eyes were darker and more distant than usual and his large frame was tense and his scent was melancholic, upset, and... guilty?

The other two wolves were silent, Erica offering support by clutching his hand between two of hers, rubbing the back of it and leaning her head on his arm. Isaac gave a sad smile, looking like he wanted to move to Boyd's other side and snuggle up in his own brand of comfort, although Derek wasn't sure if it was for Boyd's benefit or Isaac's.

"She was older than me, an Alpha. She was gonna be the one to make our parents proud." Boyd's hands clenched on top of the table and Erica worked on unfurling the fingers of the hand she still encapsulated. "All advanced placement classes in high school, volunteer work, good job, early acceptance to Harvard then was gonna go to med school. She was gonna be somebody."

Derek dropped his eyes to his lap, brow furrowed, fingers tangling together. He knew all about the expectations placed on the eldest child, especially in Werewolf families where the eldest was an Alpha. They were to carry on the family name, take over the Pack, lead. They were to set a good example for the younger siblings, set a high bar, be the one the parents could brag about to friends and one-up other parents.

His chest clenched as he thought of his dad introducing him to colleagues, the clap on the back he got as he spoke of his first born son, the Alpha. His dad never mentioned that Derek would follow in his footsteps, but it had been implied by those around him, jokes about how So-And-So better be nice to Derek because one day, they may be working for him. Derek himself had figured it was inevitable, that he'd be working with his old man within the next few years.

Funny how shit changed. Not only would he not be working with his dad, he honestly didn't know where he'd be working at all.

"Me?" Boyd went on, words a little harsher. "I'm a Beta, nothing special. I work a shit job at an ice rink, my grades are good but not great, and sometimes I truly think I only made first line on the team because I'm big and Coach can take advantage of it defensively. At least I'm sure that's how my parents see it."

Erica kissed his bicep and Isaac curled in on himself, legs drawn against his chest and arms wrapped around them. Boyd looked at neither of them, nor at Derek, eyes fixated on the back of the couch where it held part of a roof sheet up. Not that he probably saw it, not with how deep those eyes appeared.

"She took me Christmas shopping when I was eight and she was seventeen. We got separated and she disappeared. She, uh." He broke off, voice strained and eyes watery and he sucked his head.

Erica wrapped both arms around his and pressed her lips to it. Isaac turned to Derek and leaned closer, voice low even though they both knew Boyd could hear ever murmur.

"Bunch of specist bastards found her and—" He stopped, glanced at Boyd out the corner of his eye, then seesawed his head. "Like Boyd already said."

They killed her.

The implication hung in the air and Derek was left feeling like he'd been punched in the chest. Fuck. What the fuck did he say to that? He knew how empty and shallow condolences were so he wasn't about to give any. But not saying anything made him the asshole he was no longer trying to be.

Impasse.

"My parents act like there's a ghost in the house," Boyd spoke up before Derek could figure out what to say, raising his head. "They kinda just numbed out. They barely acknowledge me or anything I do these days. Sometimes I feel as dead as Alisha, like I'm a ghost in their eyes, too. They never got over her death, never really mourned her, so every day in that house is like a funeral."

Derek thought back to the previous night, to the cold reception he got from the elder Boyds and the indifference they showed their own son. Things suddenly made sense and as he looked around at the Pack, he realized that what held them together wasn't damage, it was loss.

Boyd lost his sister.

Erica lost her parents.

Isaac lost his sense of safety and in a way, lost his father.

And Derek has lost his own dad and as a result, his identity.

Although the second part could be rested solely on himself and the fact that he'd given it up as much as it had been taken from him.

He looked at Boyd, really looked at him, and hated what it made him see. Boyd had accepted Derek's coldness because it was what he'd been used to for the past decade. He was used to people keeping him at arm's length and having no real connection to him because that's how his own parents treated him on a daily basis. Derek doing the same thing didn't bother him not because he was stoic and unflappable but because he'd had way too much experience with it.

His guilt grew further and he wrung the back of his neck, eyes locked onto the half-eaten box of breadsticks on the coffee table before him. "And I treat you the same way." Erica raised her head to argue but he held up a hand to stop her. "I do. I'm a dick who keeps everyone away and ices them out, yet you guys keep hanging around for whatever reason knowing I'm in no mental or psychological or emotional state to be anyone's Alpha, or anything else they may need me to be."

There was silence, Boyd staring at his lap, Erica pouting against his arm, Isaac straightening out the tassels on his scarf.

"People change," the curly-haired one murmured lowly, barely audible, only heard by Werewolf ears.

"I know," Derek muttered right back, hand dropped to his lap, rubbing at his sore thigh. "I'm kind of proof of that."

Isaac gave him a meek expression. "You can change again."

Derek grimaced, shame making his skin crawl and his ears heat up and he stared at where both hands were now rubbing his thighs. "I don't know how," he barely whispered, eyes closing, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Shuffling sounded out and a hand ran through his hair before resting on his cheek. He opened his eyes to find Erica leaning over the table and smiling at him, looking softer than he'd ever seen her.

"This is a start," she said quietly and he simply nodded, not knowing how to respond yet still agreeing with the sentiment.

It was a start.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek really should've kept track of time.

He also should've wondered about where his family was at, especially considering the fact that the last time anyone had been late was when they'd gotten the call about his dad's accident. But he knew his mom was at work and Scott was probably off mooning over Allison or with Stiles and Maria was... well, he kinda didn't give a fuck where Maria was.

He was so going to Hell.

But he honestly couldn't convince himself that Maria would've given a fuck about him had he spent the whole day away from home.

As it was, he barely gave a passing thought to any of them as he sat there with the Pack. They slowly finished off all the pizza and breadsticks, conversation weirdly flowing. Erica had decided the blanket fort was now to be known at the Truth Tent and spoke about her parents' car wreck, about moving in with an elderly grandmother who lived off social security checks that were barely enough to cover the bills, much less stretch to things like food and clothing, a car and gas. Boyd had suggested she get a job and she flopped onto her back on the floor with a dramatic groan. Judging by the lack of reaction from him and Isaac, Derek figured it was an oft-repeated convo.

That, or Erica was just that dramatic all the time and they were over it.

Probably a mix of both.

The conversation shifted to how math was “literally created by the devil, man” and how Erica needed to “stop with the misuse of the word 'literally' for the love of all that is good.” Derek and Boyd didn't contribute much, the bigger male sitting with a small smile on his face, clearly amused by his girlfriend's ramblings during the shifting of topics that were both smooth and confusing as to how the hell they got from A to B.

Derek slumped against the front of the couch, head resting on the seat of it. His wolf was laying on its back, tongue lolling, stupid grin on its face and Derek couldn't find it in himself to be mad. Hell, he felt like doing the same, a weird sense of contentment washing over him as he let Erica and Isaac's voices fade to a muffled din in the background. The sounds of three hearts beating practically in unison was like a white noise machine and it shook him slightly to realize that his own heart was synched up with it.

But fuck he was tired. And not in the mood to look too deeply into shit or freak out over any of it. Instead, he let his eyes slip closed and started drifting off, still tired from Shifting and now from a long day of having to be social.

Well, somewhat social. More social than he had been in nearly seven months now.

Keys in the doorknob jarred him back from his half-asleep stupor and he jerked his head up, snuffling loudly. Conversation ceased as all heads turned to the back of the couch, to where the sounds of locks being undone and a knob being turned came from.

Shit. Someone was home.

Derek dragged himself up to his knees and crawled out the side of the blanket fort/ Truth Tent/ whatever, popping up and peering over the expanse of their temporary abode to see his mom and Maria enter the house. His mom stopped short when she caught sight of the fort, eyes widening and brows raising as she adjusted a paper sack of what smelled like take-out Italian on her hip. They widened even further when they came across Derek, obviously not expecting him to be the one to erect such a thing.

Not that he could blame her. Last time Derek had made a blanket fort he'd been about eight and Scott was six or seven and it was in the middle of a camping phase that lasted until their first overnight outside in the backyard. Scott got freaked out by an owl and Derek couldn't stand how hard the ground was and they wound up sneaking back inside the house around two am and sleeping on the couches instead.

In recent times, if anyone was gonna pull something like a blanket fort, it would be the effervescent Scott and his hyperactive rambling friend, not the grumpy Alpha who kept to his room ninety-percent of the time.

But his mom made no comment, just wagged her eyebrows and tipped her head in a dismissive manner before letting out a small sigh.

Yikes.

“We'll clean it up,” Derek promised, sensing a lecture coming, or at the very least, orders to take it down and put the living room—and dining room chairs—back to rights.

“I really don't care what you do, Derek,” she replied, the words flat and tired and hitting him in the chest like a red hot knife.

Double yikes.

She turned her head away and went straight for the kitchen, her own mom muttering to herself in Spanish about Werewolves and their weird habits before calling out in English that she was off to take a bath. Maria immediately went up the stairs, muttering in her native tongue once more, and Derek tuned it out, focused on the kitchen entryway his mom had disappeared through.

Her cold behavior towards him was nothing new, not since his suspension, and he doubted she'd get over it any time soon. Not with the way he'd been acting anyway. And he knew it was his own fault, that he'd brought it upon himself, and he couldn't blame her for it. Especially given the fact that he'd been treating her the exact same way for the past six and a half months.

He thought of Boyd, of what he'd witnessed of that family dynamic, of what Boyd himself had shared, and Derek didn't want that to be his life, not anymore. He had to take the steps to change it and soon, otherwise it would be too late and his mom's behavior would become a permanent thing.

The Pack made their way out the blanket fort, trash gathered inside a couple pizza boxes that Boyd held under his arm. “We'll help,” Erica volunteered in a low voice and without a single word from Derek, they began tearing the sheet tent down. Boyd and Isaac carried the chairs back to the kitchen as Derek and Erica folded the sheets, cushions and pillows back where they belonged. It took about ten minutes between the four of them and he walked them to the door, Boyd taking the trash and Erica promising to text him.

“Assuming you're allowed?” she asked, chocolate eyes darting over his shoulder to the kitchen.

Derek shrugged and bid them all a goodnight, the three heading to where Boyd's pick-up was parked behind Derek's Camaro along the edge of the lawn. Closing the door, he locked it up, sighing as he rubbed at the back of his neck. He should take the pile of sheets upstairs, try to find somewhere to keep them in what amount to his room but...

But he could hear his mom puttering around in the kitchen and his stomach felt queasy for reasons other than post-Shift biology changes. It was guilt, pure and simple.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned and headed back, finding his mom standing at the side counter, her back to him. He'd heard her speak when Boyd and Isaac had addressed her, had asked how her day had been. And even if he hadn't, he knew that the stiffness in her posture and the way she tried to dish out food without looking at him was completely personal. She wasn't gonna speak to him, wasn't gonna start any conversations. The whole thing was up to him. So after a long minute of trying to gear himself up and realizing he'd never be ready for it, he just spoke.

“Whittemore was bullying Stiles.”

His mom stiffened more, hands pausing where she'd been cutting into a lasagna, but she didn't reply or turn to him. So he went on.

“Apparently it's been going on for years but Stiles never told anyone, would never ask for help.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the doorjamb, staring at his bare feet. “Guess he was too proud or didn't want to come across as a weak Omega stereotype, I dunno. But I knew he'd be pissed if I said anything in front of the principal and other parents and he might get pissed that I'm telling you now, but.” He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say, scratching at his jaw as he thought. “But I wanted to tell you. That I overheard Whittemore taunting him and walked in on the assho—the jerk pinning Stiles against the lockers with his arm over his throat and Stiles was turning blue and I.”

His hands clenched into fists against his torso and his wolf was snarling at the memory. He had to pause to get his head straight, to calm himself down. Because his heart was racing and his head was spinning and he was hit with the urge to run to Stiles and make sure he was okay, unharmed, safe. Stupid. He'd just seen the guy a few hours ago and he was perfectly fine.

Fucking Alpha biology and its fucked-up-ness.

He cleared his throat, raising his head and looking at his mom with vision that was more wavy than before. “I couldn't let anything happen to him.”

His mom finally put down the knife and turned to him, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Well that's surprising, considering your behavior the first time you met Stiles.”

Derek grimaced at that, humiliation making his ears burn and his skin tingle, and he turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye. “I didn't do that because I hated him or saw him as a threat or whatever else you guys misinterpreted that as.”

“Really,” she deadpanned and he glanced over to see the dubious expression on her face. “And exactly what was it then?”

Shit. Okay, yeah, because he really wanted to explain that to his mom. To his _human_ mom.

He smeared a hand down his face, biting back a groan, hating how his wolf was hiding behind its paws and he couldn't do the same damn thing. “He smelled good,” he mumbled, eyes locked onto his feet again. “I overreacted, I know, but. I'd never been hit like that by a scent before. I lost control and I apologized to him for it.”

She slowly nodded once, eyebrows bobbing in a way that showed she was just gonna accept the answer because she'd never really understand Werewolf behavior as long as she was human. “So Stiles smells really good and you lost control and you weren't pinning him against the wall not to threaten him but to what? Dry-hump him?”

If there was a god, Derek hoped like hell to be struck dead by the guy right then and there.

“Wow. Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Apparently the way Derek was cringing was answer enough because admitting to his mom that, yeah, he was basically trying to dry-hump the guy wasn't anything he was ever gonna do in this life or the next.

She rubbed at her forehead and let out a long sigh, dropping both hands to her hips. “I'm pretty sure this is the longest conversation we've had in six months,” she pointed out, a dry laugh gusting out her nose, and Derek felt that guilt churning his stomach more.

“I know and I'm sorry. About a lotta things.”

That brought her up short, surprise bursting in her scent, and Derek hated himself even more for the fact that him apologizing had been such a shocking thing.

“I know I've done a lot of messed up things and I have a lot to make up for, but,” he began then paused to sigh, feeling so very fucking tired. “I'm gonna try to change, try to fix things. Soon. Now. I just. I need time to get my own head straight after Dad—” He choked on the last word, unable to finish the sentence.

Because everything came crashing in at once, knocking him sideways. His wolf was bonding with the Pack, he couldn't deny it anymore. He was falling for Stiles for reasons more than just “he's an Omega that smells good”. And he nearly lost Stiles, not knowing how far Whittemore would've pushed it had Derek not interfered.

Not to mention the fact that he'd lost his dad, been moved across the country, and had his entire life flipped upside down more than once in recent times and he was so lost and confused and he just wanted his fucking father to hug him and tell him everything would be okay but he couldn't, would never see his dad or smell him or be hugged by him or hear his voice or...

Arms were wrapped around him, his mom gently shushing him as she slipped fingers through the hair at the back of his head. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the stringent scent of the hospital, blood she'd had to wash off and other people's pain that always hung on like obnoxious perfume. But beneath that was freshly washed cotton and sunshine, the scent of his mom, the scent he always associated with comfort and home and family. He'd been missing it for six and a half months and he had no idea how bad he'd needed it since that fateful night at LaGuardia Hospital.

He clung tight to the back of his mom's scrubs and felt like his knees were gonna give out on him, only the fear of squashing her keeping him upright. But she kept murmuring how it was alright and shushing him and running her hand through her hair, just like she did when he was a kid and was upset over a bad dream or scraped knee, some childhood problem he'd give anything to deal with at that moment rather than all the bullshit he was currently wading through.

It was only when he felt how wet her scrubs were becoming and thought about how hard it was to breathe through a stuffed nose and sore jaw that he realized he was crying, finally letting the loss of his dad hit him.


End file.
